Snape Gets His
by clarity
Summary: A new arrival to Hogwarts provides some interesting moments- Hermione, now a student teacher, realises she can kick Snape's butt, and Snape realises he likes the kicking. Complete (Finally) Thanks and bye.
1. The Beginning

Severus cursed as the body in his arms fell to the mossy ground. The exertions of the past two hours or so were enough to make his tired muscles want to give up and die, let alone carrying some lump of human flesh for miles over the moors between the backside of Hogsmeade and the lawns of Hogwarts.  
  
The lump at his feet made a whimpering noise and Snape leant down, too fast for his protesting muscles. He stumbled, almost falling on top of the body.  
  
'Damn, damn, damn, damn!' he muttered quietly, observing with detached concern his own hand gripping the grass in front of him, splashes of mud darkly colouring the skin. A cloud drifted over his brain as he considered the lines and strokes. Mud, or blood- it was hard to discern where the stains converged. Snape's eyes began to cloud over and he clenched his jaw. This was not the time to be blacking out. Taking deep breaths, he concentrated on steadying himself, slowly moving into a crouched position. When his world stopped swaying a little, he turned his attention to the bundle before him.  
  
It lay stilly in the moonlight, a mound of cloth and flesh and blood. He had had to stun it to get it out of the Death Eaters' circle, making the others believe that the child was already dead, that there was nothing to do with it except dump it and leave it be- but that spell should have worn off by now. Had it- she, Snape corrected himself, the thing before him was a person, not the object his colleagues made it- had she been injured to a greater extent than he thought?  
  
He reached out a hand, feeling the figure jump and begin shivering beneath his touch. He let out a silent sigh of relief, and looked up at the moon. He needed to muster his strength to get the girl to the castle.  
  
Tonight had been a nightmare of a new order, if only because of his own weakness. He had turned up to the revel as requested, following instructions that were almost ludicrous in their obfuscation, to find a barren field and a bonfire. The revelry his fellow deviants were performing would make the ancients stand up and cheer, or at least grunt, but the scenes which confronted Snape left him unmoved. Fifteen years' experience, give or take, had left him almost numb when it came to the atrocities some humans managed.  
  
He had watched with as much disinterest as he could manage as the bodies of the girl's parents were brought forward, and had managed without a grimace to watch the acts performed on the corpses. Nothing his 'colleagues' did could surprise him any more, not even making the girl watch as the revellers frolicked.  
  
She had struggled, as they had planned she would. Taking life was no fun to these- he hesitated to call them people- without some kind of struggle.  
  
He had watched as they threw random curses at her, not really doing her too much harm. Their actions, their games with the bodies of her parents, were harming her far more, it was plain to see. However, the distraction of his fellows gave Snape an idea. Slowly, he joined in with the revels. It was a delicate matter- too much, and he would be behaving dangerously out of character. He had to match his usual detachment while at the same time participating.  
  
With a cruel smile firmly spread across his face, Snape stepped forward and calmly surveyed the two mutilated bodies before him.  
  
'Finally joining in the fun, eh, Severus?' asked Lucius Malfoy, passing by on his left. The fire on the man's face lit up the angles of it; dark smudges of drying blood here and there adding to his hawklike appearance. Snape remembered dimly that once, he had liked this man. Once he had enjoyed his company chatting by a winter fire. The trouble was, there had been too many fires of this type; too many occasions when simpering loyalty or awkward fear or- who knows?- even personal enjoyment had led the man to show his darker side, to be the first to jump at the chance of murder and mutilation. Even in the days that he himself had followed the Dark Lord, Snape had despised such animal behaviour as his comrades revelled in. Rape, murder, torture- these were the pleasures of cretins, people who had no understanding of true power. Of course a girl would plead for mercy when you were raping her; a starving child would beg for food, wouldn't it? Humans were creatures with a strong survival instinct, and a remarkably low pain threshold. Even before his stomach had turned from Voldemort's cause, taking pleasure in such absurdly natural and boringly predictable reactions had made Snape question the credibility of his dark compatriots.  
  
Malfoy had wandered off before he had to answer the man's question, and Snape was grateful for once for his own reserved nature. No one would expect real participation from him, expect him to join in the malignant joviality that embraced those near the bonfire. He looked down at the corpses sprawled on the ground before him, his brain ferreting out his next move.  
  
It would be out of character to take anything more than an academic interest in the bodies. He had never expressed enjoyment in death, and could not convincingly do so now. However, maybe to be seen as trying to experiment on them, testing new spells...  
  
He pulled out his wand, and performed a simple Rejuvanis spell on the heart of the nearest corpse. The organ was lying handily outside the remnants of the rib cage, so he could observe its motion without any further assistance.  
  
Ossory, another reveller, sauntered up to him.  
  
'You're a little late, aren't you, Snape? These things are cold.'  
  
Snape fought back the urge to glare at the man, instead sending him a lazy stare. 'Never too late, Gwon. I thought I might try out a few little... ideas I've been thinking up, see if there's anything I can make up to help the master when he has his little chats with people.'  
  
Snape felt another presence at his other side, but didn't turn around.  
  
'Ideas, Severus?' Peter Pettigrew's voice was full of self- importance, and Snape bit back a sneer. He hadn't liked the snivelling idiot when he had been surrounded by his pretentious friends at school together, and things hadn't changed with Voldemort's New Order. He turned on the man with as much calm as he could muster, but didn't bother to hide his contempt too much. He was a child of the Serpents' Den, after all.  
  
'I've been investigating the uses of heart palpitation in insistence charms,' he said, and was gratified to see Pettigrew's eyes widen. 'We may find them helpful when... asking for information.' He turned back to the beating heart, tensed for a possible challenge.  
  
But Pettigrew simply nodded, turning his own attention to the body. Judging that it was time for something more, Snape put a few simple charms on the heart to make its valves move in a more interesting manner, and put on a face of scholarly concern. Inwardly, he reflected that his time as a follower of Voldemort had not left his knowledge of the human anatomy untouched.  
  
Satisfied that his audience was sufficiently enthralled, Snape used a few moments to secretly observe the girl at the edge of the fire. Her eyes were still open, bravely surveying the scene before her, though her head lolled slightly. Certainly, she was strong enough to cope with a few charms. Surreptitiously, Snape muttered the words under his breath, gratified to see the girl slump and become still as the spells took effect.  
  
After a moment, his two watchers moved away, in need of a more entertaining spectacle than a beating heart. Snape looked once more at the girl. She hadn't moved, and a deathly stillness had overtaken her features. Now was the time to act. He had no idea whether it would really work, but it couldn't possibly hurt to try- at least, not much more than usual.  
  
Calmly, he sauntered over to the girl and bent down to take her pulse. Good. She had no sign of life, and no one had noticed anything amiss with his clinical inspection of the victim. The show could begin.  
  
Taking a slight step back, Snape raised his wand and muttered a harmless spell that would make the girl's body move. Louder, he uttered some nonsense words, linking together a few phrases from a common torture curse for effect. He had begun to draw attention, he noted, and continued his act.  
  
Malfoy rushed up to him, grabbing his arm.  
  
'Severus, what are you doing? The girl was supposed to be fun for us!'  
  
Pettigrew trotted out of the crowd, his face blotched with anger. 'Snape, what in hell are you doing? You weren't told you could play with the girl!'  
  
'It's just a little further experimentation, Peter,' Snape answered, his tone taking on the appropriate amount of uncertainty over the assurance. 'She's a perfect lab rat.'  
  
'She wasn't here as a lab rat, and well you know it, Snape!' Pettigrew stormed, glaring at him. Snape smiled inwardly. These people were so predictable.  
  
With a minuscule flick of his wand, Snape intensified the convulsions of the girl's body, stopping them abruptly. Pettigrew's eyes flew to the girl, and Snape darted forward, his face lined with puzzlement. He reached for her pulse.  
  
'Damn!' he said, turning back to Pettigrew. 'She's dead.'  
  
'Snape, damn you! You deliberately went against my orders!'  
  
Snape assumed a mask of humility. 'I'm sorry, Peter, I just wanted to experiment-'  
  
'Experiments be damned! We had plans for that carcass!' Pettigrew sent a crony over to the body, and Snape watched as his simple spells fooled yet another Death Eater.  
  
'It was such a perfect opportunity-' Snape kept his eyes away from Pettigrew and the others, forcing laughter down. These people were absurdly simple, and the rush of adrenalin the confrontation and magic brought on was making him giddy.  
  
'You will learn the consequences of your actions, Snape,' Pettigrew continued, drawing his small pudgy body up. Snape idly reflected that the little man was ludicrously trying to ape his master. 'There is no place here for those who take the orders of Voldemort lightly. Crucio!'  
  
Snape had braced himself for the curse, but it still bit into his flesh with the subtlety of an elephant. The many times he had experienced this curse had not endeared him to it.  
  
Knowing that a show of strength would go against his plans, Snape quickly dropped to his knees and gave in to the cries rising up from his belly. Eventually, the cursing stopped. He dimly heard Pettigrew order him to dump the body as penance, and not to show his face until the next revel.  
  
As humbly as he dared, Snape took up the body of the girl and left the circle of firelight. There would be a few eyes watching over him, he knew, but not that many. Those at the revel this evening were not the smartest of Voldemort's cronies, not as cautious as the Dark Lord himself encouraged. Fighting the pain in his muscles, and cursing the blood from a dozen little slices that made his hands slippery, he trudged to the nearest, darkest corner, where he was relatively safe from prying eyes. With a quick movement or two, he transfigured a coin into a human-shaped bundle, set it on the ground, and incinerated it. By the glow of its dying embers, he cast an invisibility spell on the girl at his feet, and once more pulled her into his arms, throwing her unprotesting body over his shoulder. Trying to walk as casually as possible, he moved into a moonlit patch, and Apparated.  
  
The walk from the other side of Hogsmeade had been a long one. It was not until he reached the gates of Hogwarts that he had felt comfortable revealing his burden, though he had been unable to convincingly pretend that he was carrying nothing at all. By the time he had cleared Hogsmeade, the girl had weighted him down like a ton of bricks, and he could only hope his staggers, to any interested observer, would be interpreted as the after- effects of the Cruciatus.  
  
Now, he looked down at the bundle before him. There was no way he would be able to lift her to the castle, but thankfully, now he was safely within Hogwarts' grounds and wards, he could use his wand without fear of suspicion. Using the mobilcorpus spell, he stumbled his way up to the building looming in the moonlight before him.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Anyone who formerly read this will note that the term some found offensive has been removed (to everyone else- no, it wasn't a naughty word). I apologise to anyone who experienced undue distress for the use of the former term, and only wish to assure that I meant no offense. If you have any objection to the broad term 'ancients', then I do not know how to help you: it is in Snape's head that the monologue takes place, and it is therefore meant as a referrent to one of his ancestors. As the family Snape this would refer to is entirely fictional, hopefully no-one has cause to be offended.  
  
However, for anyone who still has a problem with this, if you would be so courteous as to leave an email that I could contact you on for the chance to discuss the problem, I would be most appreciative. 


	2. Unexpected Responses

Chapter Two  
  
Albus Dumbledore looked at the figure lying prone on the bed. Luckily, there were no other students in the infirmary at the moment, and Severus Snape's dramatic and bloody entrance had gone unobserved, apart from Poppy Pomfrey, of course.  
  
Dumbledore sighed. He was glad, of course, that Severus had managed to whisk the girl away. His Potions Master hadn't had time to say much about what had happened, but Dumbledore could hazard a guess. He had known Snape was on his way to a Dark Revel- they always conferred briefly before he set off on such things- and it wasn't unusual for victims to be used as entertainment. It wasn't the first time that Snape had performed a rescue, either, though such an escape was, unfortunately, not possible as frequently as might be desired.  
  
No, it wasn't surprising that Snape had brought this bundle home with him.  
  
What was of concern, was the girl's continued unconsciousness. Snape had told him that he had performed a few simple charms, and Poppy had checked the girl's injuries. There was no reason she should still be dead to the world, almost 24 hours later.  
  
Dumbledore looked up as Snape stalked in the room. Even under the circumstances, Dumbledore had to smile at his colleague's demeanour. To those who did not know him well, it was difficult to discern any difference in Snape's mood- his habitual stalk and frown were worn like a uniform. But once you looked beyond such contrivances- and Dumbledore did- he was generally quite readable. Right now, his attempt to hide his concern was most amusing.  
  
Snape walked silently to the bed and observed the still figure with a frown. Dumbledore decided to give him some help.  
  
'There has been no change, so Poppy tells me.'  
  
Snape nodded, and reached out to touch the patient's forehead. 'She has a fever,' he stated.  
  
'Yes, Poppy has healed her wounds, but hasn't been able to do anything further, unfortunately,' Dumbledore answered. Snape shot him a startled look.  
  
'Nothing? Nothing works?' Dumbledore shook his head.  
  
'I'm afraid, Severus, that there is nothing we can do but wait. Poppy assures me, apart from the fever, that she is quite safe. The child has been through much. It may be best to simply let her heal.' He patted his old friend on the back, and moved from the room, leaving the potions master to stand solemnly by the bed.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Severus Snape shook his head to clear it of its grogginess, and looked over at the figure on the bed next to him. It had been a week, and the girl had showed no signs of change.  
  
Such inaction was infuriating to him. He knew the spells he had performed- there was no way that they should have worked for more than a couple of hours. Pomfrey said that the girl had no internal injuries, and her outer wounds were healed- so why was she still immersed in senseless sleep?  
  
All week, conducting his classes, Snape's mind had been on the girl. He felt an odd desperation about her- the sluggish aura of the coma she was trapped in drew him to her somehow. Privately, he had searched every single journal he had, in the hope for a cure, but had found none. There was simply no reason for her to still be in this coma.  
  
What troubled him most was his own feelings in the matter. In the course of his duties as a spy for Dumbledore, he had had a few opportunities to rescue potential victims at revels. He had done the best he could for them, presenting them as a sort of penance for the times when he could only stand by and watch others die. But when they had recovered, when they were functioning again, he had let them be without a second's thought.  
  
There was no reason for his concern for this stranger. She was an innocent, yes, but Snape had never really felt the pangs for innocence some of his more sentimental colleagues were apt to display. Innocence was soon enough lost, and mourning for it would do no-one any good. His outlook had perhaps led some to believe he was heartless over the years- and it was relatively true. He had no real heart for sad tales or sympathy, and could never understand those who did. Knowing right from wrong, and having the ability to judge in the grey area in between, was his only concession to the cause of 'good'.  
  
Yet with this girl he felt a... a link, perhaps, a connection. When his thoughts were drawn to her he felt a wave of utter despair that was singularly out of character for him- the girl was only in a coma, after all, and had escaped some of the more drastic consequences of being at a dark revel. And turn to her his thoughts did, hundreds of times a day, until he was forced to go and check on her.  
  
Snape observed the girl, lying ashen-faced on crisp white sheets. In concession to the fever she was running, Poppy Pomfrey had dressed her only in a light summery cotton nightgown, and had left the heavier blankets at the foot of the bed. The girl lay on her stomach, a position she turned to every time someone tried to move her.  
  
Firelight was the only light in the room, the staff having agreed it was best not to draw attention to their guest. The avoidance spell placed around the curtain kept the students away, but they would be suspicious if the infirmary was lit up in the middle of the night. The wavering light flickered over the girl's pale skin, highlighting its creaminess and shadows. Her hair lay ruffled on the pillow, a dull dark brown. Perspiration cloaked her face, a slight flush in her cheeks emphasising her exquisite bone structure.  
  
All this, Severus Snape observed, and yet remained unmoved. It was not attraction that prompted his interest. This girl was- what? Fifteen? Sixteen? Eighteen? All the years he had taught at Hogwarts had nevertheless left him ignorant on judging teenage girls.  
  
No, it was not attraction. Children had never tempted him, even when he was one himself- the prattlings of a teenage beauty held nothing to the intelligent conversation provided by a middle-aged woman. So what was it?  
  
A movement caught his eye, and Snape's gaze was drawn to the girl's face. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. For a silent moment, she stared at him without expression, and Snape wondered if it was just a muscular reaction. Then her eyes flickered with anger, her mouth twisting.  
  
'You!' The one word was brimming with hatred and disgust.  
  
Before he knew what was happening, the girl sat up, her hand scrabbling on the table nearest her. Snape felt a sharp pain, and looked down at his leg, surprised to see a pair of scissors embedded in it. The girl started yelling in a language he didn't understand- was it Gaelic?- and the wound in his leg spurted blood.  
  
In a moment, it was over. Poppy Pomfrey rushed in to see what the commotion was, and sedated the hysterical girl. She was attending to Snape's wound when Dumbledore walked in and surveyed the scene.  
  
The old man's eyes travelled over the sedated girl, slumped on the bed, the spatters of blood soaking the front of the bedclothes and the floor, and Snape's leg. To Snape's utter surprise, the man smiled.  
  
'Ah, I see our patient has finally awoken. Good.' 


	3. Night hall wanderings, and thoughts

Snape Gets His  
  
Disclaimer: nya nya nya nya, JK. I've stolen your characters. Yeah, right.  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Hermione Granger walked along the darkened corridors of Hogwarts, lost in contemplation. She had been back at the school for a month now, and felt absolutely lost. It was barely a year since her own graduation, and she was having trouble adjusting to her new role in the school.  
  
Contrary to what every other person in the school had seemed to assume, Hermione had been confused at her graduation, and not a little scared. Everyone had presumed that she knew where she was going, what she wanted to do- so much so that no-one had ever bothered to talk to her about it. No-one had been there to help in her decision- her family, being muggles, were unable, and her friends and teachers unwilling.  
  
Teaching had come as a surprise as much to her as to the people around her. It had just seemed... something to do. Unwilling to leave the comfort zone of her school, Hermione had simply found a way to return to it. And her teachers had been delighted. After all, she had been their best student, graduating with honours.  
  
Hermione had to admit to herself that she was enjoying her time at Hogwarts, regardless of her confusion. After a six-month training course (it would usually take a year, but she had taken double subjects), she had been free to begin her placement with Hogwarts. In another year - if her fellow teachers gave her good reports, of course - she would be a fully- qualified teacher and able to assume the role as a professor of her own standing, instead of assisting and substituting. Even though it was what she had chosen, it was a strange idea.  
  
She trailed her hand along a stone window ledge, noting that the sun was well and truly down. Time to get back to her quarters, she supposed, before curfew. With a grimace, Hermione realised she was still thinking like a student. As a member of the staff, she was entitled to walk the corridors whenever she wished. Still, she began to trace the route back to her quarters, consoling herself that some habits took time to kill.  
  
Once inside her rooms, Hermione sat at the window seat, looking out at the moon. The orb was waning fast, soon to be gone. Up here, looking down at the empty grounds and up at the cold sky, Hermione had to fight back a surge of loneliness. She felt so out of place here, now. Every corridor reminded her of her student days, every giggle of a time when she and Harry and Ron had performed some mischievous trick. Watching the students chat together at dinnertime, Hermione wished she could be amongst them. Sitting at the teacher's table was a scary- and isolating- experience, amongst people who still had her firmly placed in the 'student' part of their mind.  
  
However, looking down at the many faces she saw in her class rooms, Hermione had to admit her place was no longer with the student population, and nor did she want it to be. Though quite a few students remained who had been at the school when she graduated- it had only been a year, after all- there was no hiding the fact that her particular friends had gone off into the world. Even Ginny was gone- graduated a few months earlier.  
  
Hermione felt an aching emptiness in her stomach, and sighed. This was not the way she should behave. Self-pity never got anyone anywhere. Setting her chin determinedly, she headed for the door. Not all of her friends had gone. Hagrid, reliable, familiar, was still in his little hut.  
  
She was at the door of the hut and had knocked before she realised that none of the lights were on. Of course. Hagrid would be in the Forbidden Forest. Even Fang would be gone. The hut was as cold and empty as she felt.  
  
Hermione managed to walk all the way to her room and close the door before giving in to the tears surging behind her eyelids.  
  
***  
  
Snape was not having A Good Day. The wound in his leg had festered, despite Poppy Pomfrey's ministrations, and so he was forced to return to the infirmary daily for treatment. Which meant that that little - wretch - who had done him the injury in the first place got within shouting distance about three times a day.  
  
This morning she had thrown a bedpan at him. Thankfully, it had been empty. After lunch, she had thrown yet another pair of scissors- where did she get her hands on them?- but he, being a cautious man, had managed to avoid an inadvertent vasectomy. Now, it being well after dinner, he was on his way to yet another treatment- and another round with the pernicious wench.  
  
Dumbledore had talked with her, Snape knew he had. The old man had explained the situation, what had happened- everything. But the witch had developed a pathological dislike of him, and could not be dissuaded.  
  
Not that he really blamed her. Witch was the word- she wasn't part of the wizarding community, but she wasn't a muggle either. Dumbledore had mentioned something about 'wiccan', though Snape had been too distracted to take real note. The thing was, she had observed horrific things, and thought he was a representative of the people who had done them. Of course she would hate him.  
  
But the constant uproar was giving Snape a serious headache. He undoubtedly deserved whatever insults she could find to hurl at him- but did she have to do it in another language? Snape had a smattering of Gaelic, just enough to catch a word here or there, but it was only enough to give him the merest hints of what he was being accused of.  
  
The last round had been the worst. She had yelled the entire time he was in the room, barely pausing for breath. He hadn't caught much, but- with a cat? Really, he had no particular interest in such things. And what she accused him of doing with his grandmother was surely impossible; the old woman had died two years before he was born. Though, with the wench's low opinion of him, she no doubt suspected him of it anyway.  
  
Pausing outside the infirmary's entrance, Snape took a moment to steel himself. Past experience had taught him to be prepared.  
  
He entered, and was confronted with silence. There was no sign of Pomfrey, and, by the look of the shadow on the curtain that separated her from the rest of the room, his torturer was asleep. Snape let out a sigh. Relief.  
  
Giving in to the tug that pulled at him when he was around her, Snape quietly walked over to the cubicle, and ventured a look at the strange girl there. Her face was relaxed in sleep, looking almost pleasant in the firelight. Her stay in the infirmary was more due to confusion about what to do with her, than to continued illness. Judging by the energy with which she railed at him, she had recovered quite nicely.  
  
Snape moved to stand by her bed, knowing he was risking injury, but strangely uncaring. The link he had felt with this girl had not changed with her awakening. He still felt a connection to her, still felt her anger at him a little more deeply than he should. It was a puzzle to him.  
  
The girl beneath his gaze stirred, and Snape retreated beyond the curtain shielding her from the room. Though he had to admit, grudgingly, that the girl's anger was justified, given that she saw him as a member of a group that had mistreated her in all but the most vicious of ways, he wasn't forced to enjoy her bouts of fury.  
  
Snape sighed, and turned to leave. This slow torture was getting him down- he was acting strange even to himself these days. Weakness, he liked to think, was not an infection that corrupted his personality. At least, not often. And, he assured himself, it would not do so now.  
  
With his pride aligned and back in place, Snape stalked to his rooms. Poppy and her treatments of his cut could go hang.  
  
***  
  
Hermione grimaced as the headache splintered through her head. It probably served her right for crying like a schoolgirl. Which she no longer was, she reminded herself firmly.  
  
But sitting in the dark wincing in pain was not going to make the morning come any sooner, and she was out of headache relief potion. She smiled to herself in the dark. She had been in the wizarding world for far too long- her mother would be disappointed. In her notoriously organized family, a badly-stocked medical cupboard was tantamount to denouncing heritage. There were some disadvantages to having the world available at the flick of a wand.  
  
Not everything, however, she thought, as she sat up and planted her feet on the floor. Had she known the exact location of Madame Pomfrey's stock of headache relief potion, she could have simply summoned some to her bedside. The down side of that method was if she got it wrong; if there was no potion, who knew what she could summon in its place? She didn't relish the idea of summoning an irate mediwitch accidentally.  
  
Besides, she could probably do with the walk down to the infirmary. It would clear her head.  
  
Wandering down the corridors of Hogwarts at night had always been, for Hermione, a thrilling experience. Usually because she was beneath an invisibility cloak with Ron and Harry, off to some adventure, telling them off for being careless but being thrilled herself all the same. The excitement of wandering around invisible at night had never lost its thrill for her, even after she had begun to lose her childish joy of the invisibility cloak. In her later years, she had often borrowed Harry's cloak to sneak into the library to study, her heart racing as she approached her own secret haven. Walking around in the cloak had given her the privileges of a ghost, the privilege of being the only person around, owning Hogwarts for a while, in a way. At least, at night, her invisibility was her own intention.  
  
With an impish grin, Hermione cast a cloaking spell on herself. It would do her spirits no harm to revisit an old indulgence tonight.  
  
Sneaking quietly into the infirmary, Hermione made a beeline for the medicine cabinet. She grinned wider as she managed to open it with the gentlest of whispered spells and a hushed click.  
  
'Who's there?'  
  
The voice, strong but tinted with fear, echoed through the room, and Hermione jumped. Apparently, her skills at sneaking had rusted somewhat with lack of practice.  
  
She turned, expecting to see a frightened student, but instead could spy no-one in the infirmary. That was strange. She knew Poppy Pomfrey didn't have any patients, but had assumed that some student had had an accident sometime during the night, yet no-one was there. She frowned, her brow furrowing. Something was amiss, she could feel it.  
  
Narrowing her eyes in concentration, she looked around the room. There was someone here, she was certain- that had been no childhood ghost speaking to her. Yet- wait! No, there it was. Hermione broke out in a smile. A simple concealing charm, at the end of the room, hid a curtained partition, though 'hid' was not really the proper word- it simply made one not want to notice it, to want to pass on. Now that she knew about it, she could see it quite easily.  
  
As quietly as she could, Hermione crept over to the cubicle. Her curiosity hadn't changed since her school days, either.  
  
Rounding the curtain, Hermione spied a girl of about her own age, maybe older, though it was difficult to tell. Fear widened her eyes as she looked around the room, making her look younger, vulnerable. So palpable was her fear that Hermione couldn't help pitying her, and swiftly removed the cloaking charm around her.  
  
The girl drew in breath when Hermione came into view, but didn't look particularly shocked, Hermione noticed. So. Someone who was ready to expect anything.  
  
'Who are you?' The girl's voice broke the stillness in the room.  
  
'My name is Hermione Granger,' Hermione answered briskly. She wanted to be kind, but the girl's voice was almost accusatory. She wondered what had made her that way. 'I'm sorry if I scared you. I just needed a headache potion.'  
  
The girl's brow furrowed, and Hermione realised she didn't know what she was talking about. 'It's a draught to relieve a headache. Madame Pomfrey keeps a good supply.' The girl nodded, and Hermione wondered again what this girl was. She didn't start at magic tricks happening before her, yet didn't know of the simplest of things, such as a headache relief potion.  
  
'I hope I didn't scare you,' Hermione repeated, and the girl's eyes refocussed on her.  
  
'You didn't,' she said. 'I was just wondering who it could be. I couldn't sleep.'  
  
Hermione smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring manner. 'I'm sorry to hear that. Did you want me to fetch Madame Pomfrey? She could give you a sleeping draught.'  
  
The girl grimaced, and for a moment Hermione wondered what she had said wrong. 'No. I need no more of your wizardly concoctions.'  
  
Taken aback, Hermione stared at the girl. That last remark had had a little too much vehemence. A part of her prompted her to investigate, but her natural reserve prevented it. she sufficed with a simple, 'Oh.'  
  
After a moment's silence, Hermione rallied. 'So what's your name?'  
  
The girl looked thoughtful for a moment. 'You may call me Ailie.'  
  
Hermione caught the subterfuge in her voice. 'What's your real name?'  
  
Obviously surprised, the girl gave her an appraising look. 'I can't tell you that. Names are powerful things to just give away.'  
  
'Hmm.' Hermione found herself without voice. She had never come across a person like this before. Somehow, though, she could sense that the girl was not completely distrustful of her. Testing, she asked, 'But is Ailie a name other people usually call you?'  
  
'Yes.' The girl nodded.  
  
Silence filled the room as Hermione tried to think of what to say. She was never the best conversationalist at the best of times, and finding things to talk about with a stranger in the dead of night proved difficult.  
  
Finally, Ailie broke the pause. 'Why were you wandering around invisible?'  
  
Hermione gave a self-conscious laugh. 'I, um- I used to walk around invisible at night, when I was a student here.'  
  
'Oh.' The girl on the bed frowned in puzzlement. 'Do they not like students walking freely, here?'  
  
Hermione gasped, and chuckled. 'No- I mean, yes. Students can move around almost as they like, in the daytime. But it's not unusual for a school to frown on students being out of bounds at night-time.'  
  
'But surely night is the most magical time? Do you people not want to teach your students skills?'  
  
Hermione paused, not quite knowing how to answer that. She sufficed with, 'They seem to fare pretty well by learning in the day time.'  
  
Ailie snorted and looked away in disgust. Hermione, sensing an argument in the making, chose not to inquire about the source of the other girl's attitude.  
  
Deciding to take the offensive, she asked, 'Why are you in here?'  
  
The girl frowned at her. 'I was brought by that ugly wizard, Snop- Snap, something.'  
  
'Snape?' Hermione smiled at Ailie's acid tone in pronouncing the name. Usually, it took people at least a month's acquaintance to develop such an attitude toward the ominous Potions Master.  
  
'Yes. You know him.' It was an accusation.  
  
'Yes.' Hermione's wry smile was designed to convey her own opinion.  
  
She was surprised to see the girl's answering smile.  
  
'I see not everyone here loves that - man. The nurse and the other wizard treat him as a friend.'  
  
'They would. They've been colleagues for a long time, and I'm just a- ' Hermione paused, realising what she had been about to say. 'Well, I'm a colleague of his too, I suppose.' She was surprised by the thought. She had never thought of herself as Snape's colleague, never conceived herself as anything but his subordinate. The idea was unsettling.  
  
Ailie seemed to sense her confusion. 'Don't worry. I am glad that you do not class yourself in the same category as - him.' Again, her tone made the word an insult. Hermione mused on the connotations that might have.  
  
Across from her, the girl yawned. Hermione looked at her, startled. She had forgotten she was in the infirmary.  
  
'You should get some sleep. You need to- well, get over what ever you need to get over.'  
  
Ailie nodded. 'It was nice of you to talk to me.'  
  
Hermione smiled, her first genuine smile for quite a few weeks. 'Not at all. It was nice to talk to someone so... interesting. Goodnight.'  
  
'Peace,' Ailie answered, her eyes closing.  
  
Hermione wandered out the door of the infirmary, her headache forgotten. Out of habit, she cast a cloaking spell on herself once more. That had certainly been interesting. She had never come across someone so puzzling before; with magical knowledge, yet obviously without it, rough, untrusting, but strangely friendly. And guarded. She never had mentioned the reason she was in there, nor from whence she came. And she had obviously been restraining herself on the topic of Severus Snape.  
  
It was intriguing, Hermione mused as she wandered along, chewing her lip. It also awoke something in her that she had not had in quite some time - the thrill of being at the beginning of some wonderful mystery. The feeling transported her back to her past, and she didn't resent it at all. She had found herself another mystery at Hogwarts, and even though she was a teacher this time, she couldn't resist the need to know what it was. She was Hermione Granger, know-it-all, after all.  
  
It was a shame Harry and Ron couldn't be there for the chase.  
  
Caught up in her thoughts, Hermione had thrown aside her usual caution when walking at night. Bumping headlong into a solid, yet tellingly soft, object was the first she knew of another person performing nightly wanderings.  
  
Two strong hands grasped her upper arms with painful intensity, and Hermione gasped in pain. She looked up, and wished she hadn't. She had finally managed to make the blunder she hadn't committed in all her student years, and had run headlong into Severus Snape.  
  
'Who are you?' came Snape's harsh whisper. Hermione felt a tremor of fear run down her spine. She had never heard this most dangerous of Snape's tones, not even when Neville had blown up the entire potions classroom in year five.  
  
When she didn't immediately answer, the hands on her arms shook her. 'It would pay you to answer me,' he said in a low tone. 'Uninvited guests at Hogwarts are not suffered lightly.'  
  
Shocked into speech, Hermione managed a thin whisper. 'Professor Snape! It's me, Hermione Granger, sir!'  
  
Abruptly, Snape ceased shaking her, and his grip on her relaxed somewhat. 'Miss Granger?' The confusion in his voice was evident.  
  
Hermione nodded, then realised she was still wearing the cloaking charm. Quickly, she removed it, and was a little gratified to see Snape's eyes widen in surprise when she appeared.  
  
The moment did not last long. Her old Potions Master quickly recovered, his customary glare replacing shock.  
  
'And what, exactly, do you think you are doing wandering the halls invisible at this hour?'  
  
'I'm- I'm sorry sir.'  
  
'Be sure that you are.' Snape released her, his arms folding as he stared down at her. 'Don't let me catch you at it again, Miss Granger.' The venom in his voice was like a tangible coating, as was his dismissal.  
  
With a quiet acquiescence, Hermione darted off, making her way to her rooms. It wasn't until she reached them and was safely inside that she realised to her chagrin that she had reacted exactly like a student.  
  
  
  
  
  
Notes: To everyone who reviewed, thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you... reviews are the only way I know people have read stuff, so even something saying 'I read it, and wasn't that impressed,' is great.  
  
PotionsMastersMistress- thanks for pointing out my mistake- it never would have occurred to me! Corrections are always more than welcome.  
  
Aemos- thanks for the ego-boost! I highly doubt I deserve it, as reading back over these chapters I've had a few cringeworthy moments, but it's always nice to get compliments.  
  
Helen- all will eventually be revealed, unfortunately not at a hugely fast pace as I have four huge essays to do (why did I take an anthropology class? Why, why, why?) but I hate those people who update every two years or so, so I understand the frustration. I hope this chapter has answered your question as to whether the girl was Hermione- sorry, things will get a little more off-track before it gets to SS/HG. But I promise to make the build-up worth it.  
  
Makota- hmm. If you read on, you will see that the 'blow on the ancient Pagans' was written as part of Snape's thought patterns. He hates everyone, so of course he's going to see the down side of everything. However, I spoke only the truth- blood sacrifice was a part of the hugely broad religion now conceptualised by the blanket term 'paganism'. It's true of just about every religion (though there are exceptions- don't stress, I'm not downing Buddhists) that bloody murder has been a part- Romans killed Christians for sport, Christians hacked to death anyone living in Jerusalem, etc. Humanity's like that, I'm sorry to say- if you want evidence, simply board a plane to just about any third world country and look at the things people do to each other- including some first world organisations who I will not mention. As for grunting, blood lust has a very stupifying effect.  
  
I find it very interesting that someone who is so quick to stand up for peoples that have, since the Roman invasion of Britain, been dead ('ancient' Pagans), and takes offence with lightning speed on their behalf, is equally quick to give offence. You say that I am entitled to my ideas, while at the same time saying that if my ideas are what you think they are, you despise me for it (I can't really take 'fuck you' any other way).  
  
References: The qualities of the concealing charm on the dividing curtain are borrowed from Douglas Adams' SEP field. I only wish he were around to sue me for it.  
  
Oh- I can also be an ignoramus when it comes to British history. When I make mistakes, inform me. 


	4. The Scottish Patient

Snape Gets His  
  
Disclaimer: I'm not making any money, so you can't sue me. I think this whole copyrighted word thing is ridiculous, and J.K. is a smart enough woman to realise that people writing fanfic about her characters are only providing her series with free advertising. If she can't convince the enlightened folks at Warner Bros of that, then…  
  
Again, thank you everyone for your reviews! It's sure nice to open up Statistic and see the number climbing. Aah.  
  
I've made reference to Minerva McTabby here because I just read her satire of 'Pawn to Queen', 'PtQ in a Nutshell'. It's so funny I was practically rolling on the floor. If you haven't read Riley's 'Pawn to Queen', do so, it is on fanfiction.net, but only the first 12 chapters. You can find the updated version at Riley's website. I don't have the address but just type 'Pawn to Queen' in a search engine and you should find it. (Oh- and don't ask Riley for updates, she gets nasty about that.) Then read Minerva Mc Tabby's fic, which is a BRILLIANT take off. I was pleasantly surprised to know that she is a fellow Aussie. We kick ass! Or arse, to be technical.  
  
Oh yeah, and of course the 400-year-dead guy is William Shakespeare. He also kicks ass, in troth.  
  
Okay, I'll stop my babbling so you can read my other babbling.  
  
c.  
  
  
  
Chapter Four  
  
Ailie awoke slowly, relishing the feel of the morning sunlight on her face. It had been a few weeks since she had been able to drink in the sun; her coven had felt an eye on them and had retreated underground. That had been a while ago, some weeks before she and her parents-  
  
Ailie took a deep breath. She had to think about what had happened, what they had done to her- parents. To her coven. To her. While she ran away from it, they still held power over her. She hadn't been brought up to allow that.  
  
Before that, however, she needed strength. Slowly, Ailie moved herself into a sitting position, cross-legged, facing the sun trickling in from a half-hidden window. Closing her eyes, she slowly spread her hands in front of her, moving her arms gradually to the side, mimicking the movement of the sun as she had been taught to perform ever since she was two. Eyes still closed, she reached forwards once more, fingers stretching to grasp the sunshine. In a leisurely movement, she cupped her hands around the sun, feeling the warmth of the light fill her hands. Ailie smiled. The sun, at least, was still willing to give its light to her, even if her heart was not. She rubbed her hands over each other, feeling the morning light sink into them, immersing herself in the day.  
  
Ailie smiled, for the first time in a month. She had missed the morning ritual, missed the sun. Ever since she was a child, she had relished the light the sun goddess gave her. She had cherished the sun ritual, learning how to ask of the day and live in it. She was a child of the night and the day, but there was something magical in light that she had never been able to ignore.  
  
Cleansed by the light inside her, Ailie stretched her body, making sure that there was no lasting injury. Luckily, she had been too damaged, her hurts too deep, for those wizards to want to try their concoctions on her. They had been satisfied to merely let her heal, and for that unconscious wisdom on their part she was eternally grateful. Had they interfered further, her natural healing might have been hindered beyond repair.  
  
She frowned as she thought of the dark wizard. Not content to let his associates torture her, he had had to throw who knew what sorts of curses at her, conflicting with the intricate wards she had placed about herself. The old wizard, and the nurse- they had said that the dark one had been trying to help her. Ailie let out a 'humph'. These wizards, they knew nothing. All their meddlings, and spells, and wands and nonsense. It would have been better if they had let her alone.  
  
Ailie completed her last stretch, pulling her leg up by her ear and pointing her toes at the sky, when she heard a soft, 'Oh!' Unhurriedly, she let down her leg and looked toward the opening in the curtain.  
  
It was that girl from last night- Hermione, after the Greek. Ailie lent her head to the side to view her. Not anything particularly startling, in this one; a tall girl, slender, though without the fine bones that would have given her beauty. A wild mess of mousy brown hair. Hesitant eyes, peering from beneath a waft of fringe. Nice, long fingers, currently wrapped around a stack of books clutched to her chest. Dull swathes of cloth draped over her body, in much the same form as the old wizard and the dark one, efficiently concealing anything that could be of note beneath. Ailie inwardly shook her head. Even in her coven, young ones did their best to appeal to each other. Perhaps in this strange wizard culture vanity was no longer necessary.  
  
Ailie watched as the Hermione girl forced a small smile on her face, trying to cover her nervousness. Ailie smiled slightly in return; in her coven, nervousness was vulnerability. You did not cover it up: you conquered it.  
  
The smile apparently served as encouragement for her companion, who stepped forward.  
  
'Hi,' she said, placing her books on a nearby table. 'I'm sorry if I'm interrupting you, only I wanted to get you these before breakfast- not your breakfast, of course, but I do have to attend and I just thought, seeing as I was up early anyway...'  
  
Ailie watched as Hermione babbled herself into silence. She was absolutely intrigued.  
  
'Um, anyway,' Hermione continued, 'I thought these might distract you.'  
  
Well done Hermione, the Hogwarts teacher chided herself. Just let her know what a babbling idiot you are.  
  
Hermione waited patiently as the bed-ridden girl in front of her thought. Ailie seemed much better this morning, or perhaps it was just the sunlight playing on her hair. The strange girl had dark brown hair with the kind of red highlights that Hermione had always wished she had, and eyes that she imagined would be described in a book as 'deep, chocolate brown.' Hermione sighed. She knew this would be a mistake. It was just, getting up at the crack of dawn, a habit that was, unfortunately, ingrained in her very soul it seemed, she had looked around her vast personal library and thought with pity of the secret patient in the infirmary.  
  
Now, of course, the idea that the girl might not like books had finally occured to her. After all, as Ron had told her innumerous times over the years, not everyone was as crazy about books as she was.  
  
By the look on the patient's face, she obviously wasn't.  
  
Hermione sighed. It seemed that with age, unfortunately, did not come brilliant social skills. Just because you're not at school anymore, Hermione, doesn't mean you're not still a nerd. Blushing to the roots of her hair, yet another affliction that didn't pass with age, Hermione made to leave.  
  
'No, don't go,' the other girl smiled. 'I was just wondering what you wanted me to do with all of- those.' She indicated the pile of books, their precarious position bravely defying gravity on the bedside table. There were at least fifteen.  
  
Hermione shrugged. If she were hospitalized, she'd get through those on a day. That is, if someone had been kind enough to bring them to her. Which they never had.  
  
'I wasn't sure what you liked,' she said, feeling a little defensive. 'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought them.'  
  
Ailie's eyes widened, and she shook her head, in evident apology. 'No. Please don't. I didn't mean- well, I've never read that many books at one time. I was wondering if you were expecting me to prepare for a test.' She grinned.  
  
Unable to resist the girl's sudden warmth, Hermione brought the books closer to her bed and, at Ailie's gesture, sat down on the side of the bed.  
  
'I really didn't know what you would read, so I brought a selection of my own,' she said. Shyly, she gave Ailie a small smile. 'I didn't realise it would be overwhelming for you- I tend to go a bit mad with books.'  
  
Ailie shrugged, and flicked back a piece of her shoulder-length hair. 'I've never really needed that many.'  
  
Hermione's eyes widened a little. 'Really? Don't you like reading at all?'  
  
Again, Ailie shrugged, as she began picking through the books. 'I never really saw a need for it. My coven didn't use spellbooks that much.' She picked up a copy of Great Expectations.  
  
'Your coven?' Hermione asked, puzzled. Though she had learnt much about the wizarding world in the eight years she had been a part of it, she had never heard the word coven used in anything other than an historical sense. Traditional witchcraft had, after all, just been a step in the wizardly evolutionary process.  
  
'Of course,' Ailie replied, her eyes skimming over the pages of the now opened book. 'We didn't practice trapping spells, and so books were rarely needed to retrieve them. What spells are trapped in these?' She held up the book for Hermione's inspection.  
  
Hermione bit her lip in puzzlement. It almost seemed as if she and Ailie were following two different conversations.  
  
'When you say spellbooks, do you mean books of spells?'  
  
The other girl frowned at her. 'Of course. What other use do you have for them?'  
  
Hermione shook her head. 'These are novels.' She caught Ailie's puzzled stare. 'You know, books with stories in them.'  
  
'Oh, children's books,' Ailie said dismissively, putting the novel down.  
  
'No, these are stories for adults. And, of course, biographies, and histories, and I threw in a book of myths, because I-'  
  
Ailie raised a hand. 'You use books to tell stories?'  
  
Hermione nodded. The feeling of surreality continued.  
  
Picking up a few more books, Ailie frowned. 'Why do you trap words if you don't want to use their power?'  
  
An idea began to dawn in Hermione's mind. It was an odd theory, but she hadn't become Head Girl for nothing...  
  
'You use books to trap words?' she asked, testing.  
  
Ailie nodded.  
  
'And you think that if you trap words, they become powerful?'  
  
The girl shook her head, obviously frustrated. 'No- words are powerful no matter what you do. Don't things happen when you tell them to?'  
  
Hermione felt she was beginning to grasp the problem. 'Of course words are powerful. But they don't always contain magic.'  
  
Ailie snorted, looking at her with disgust. 'It doesn't matter if they contain magic or not. You shouldn't waste the power of words by simply trapping them all over the place.'  
  
'But they're not wasted,' Hermione argued. 'Words like these have power, and people read them over and over again. Look,' she grabbed a book of sonnets, one of her favourites. 'This one:  
  
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;  
  
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:  
  
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;  
  
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.  
  
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,  
  
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;  
  
And in some perfumes is there more delight  
  
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.  
  
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know  
  
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.  
  
I grant I never saw a goddess go:  
  
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.  
  
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare  
  
As any she belied with false compare.  
  
See? They have power to everyone who reads them, or almost everyone.' Ailie grabbed the book from her.  
  
'But why do you waste them by trapping them in books. Why didn't this- ' she looked on the cover, 'William, tell you himself?'  
  
Hermione laughed. 'He's been dead for 400 years.'  
  
Ailie looked unimpressed. 'Then why didn't your speaker tell you? Why trap the words where no one will ever see them?'  
  
Hermione frowned. She remembered learning about oral histories, cultures that passed down stories and learning through spoken word. It was a tradition that was slowly and sadly dying. 'Does your coven still pass things down orally, then?' she asked.  
  
'How else do you tell the stories?' Ailie looked at Hermione as if she was mad.  
  
Hermione just nodded. 'Oral histories...' She looked back at Ailie. 'Wizards and muggles don't pass things down by word of mouth- speakers- any more. In the middle ages, monks began to write everything down, recording everything in books and passing them on.'  
  
Ailie frowned. 'But you show them no respect that way.'  
  
Hermione shook her head, having to blow a stray piece of hair out of her face. 'We do respect words, very much. By recording people's stories, we can send them all over the world. People can read something written by someone hundreds of years ago, someone in a different country who speaks a different language. Books are wonderful things.'  
  
'Our speakers have tales from all over the world, too. Handed down for generations, handed across the lands. Our children learn them, and tell their children, so that the story doesn't die.'  
  
'I guess we just have a different way of dealing with it,' Hermione replied, disheartened. Books, for her, were a part of life, an indispensable part. Yet the passing down of stories from generation to generation as Ailie described it sounded wonderful. 'There would be too many stories for people to remember, now. And there aren't any groups like covens here- people are spread out too far. Books help us learn those stories even when we don't have a coven.'  
  
Ailie shrugged. She had been told some things about the outside world and how it operated. It seemed a strange way of living to her, separated from those who could help you learn, but perhaps these people thought her strange as well.  
  
'I will look into these books.' She picked up one with a red, worn cover, and looked at the title curiously. 'What is this one?'  
  
Hermione took it from her and smiled. It was Hogwarts, a History, the book her parents had bought for her as a present when she was invited to the school. She had read it many times over the years, fascinated with the world she had been introduced to. It was now like an old friend.  
  
'It's a history book, the story of this school. I thought you might like it.'  
  
The girls spent a few minutes examining the books, Ailie brimming with curiosity now that she was no longer wary of them. They were both immersed in the book of sonnets once more when a polite cough interrupted them.  
  
Hermione glanced up in surprise, to see Dumbledore looking at her with his usual expression of fond knowing. A blush stained her cheeks when she realised she was once again where she shouldn't be.  
  
'Headmaster, I was-'  
  
'Just entertaining our young guest. Yes, well done.' The old wizard walked over to the bed and examined the pile of books. 'Just the thing for someone stuck in bed. Ah,' he exclaimed, picking up a book with a purple cover. 'Minerva McTabby's book of Travels Through the Wizarding Wilderness. Excellent, excellent. It has always been one of my favourites.' Opening the book for a browse, the Headmaster gave all appearance of having retreated for the day, when suddenly he looked up at Hermione with a smile. 'It was very thoughtful of you to bring these along, but I'm afraid if you don't move fast you will miss out completely on a rather wonderful breakfast. Blueberry pancakes, you know,' he added, to Ailie. He looked back at Hermione with a twinkle. 'I'm sure your new friend won't mind if you pop back in later in the day.'  
  
Knowing a dismissal when she heard one, Hermione nodded goodbye to Ailie and left the cubicle. As she walked out into the corridor, she reflected that at least Dumbledore had given her, in his usual roundabout way, his express permission to visit the girl again.  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore watched his former student leave, then turned back to Ailie, looking thoughtful. 'I'm glad to see you looking so well today.'  
  
Ailie looked up from the book she was reading with a smile. She could not help but like this old wizard.  
  
'As I said yesterday, I am feeling much better, apart from being away from my coven.' A shadow crossed the girl's face. 'I don't know what's wrong. Usually I can feel where they are so easily...'  
  
Dumbledore gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. 'I am sure it is only a temporary setback. Your powers should return soon, my child.'  
  
Ailie glared at him, shocked. 'I did not give you my permission to enter my mind!'  
  
Dumbledore chuckled, a little taken aback. It was not often he was taken to task for his little peculiarity. 'I am sorry, my dear. I would not like you to think I would do such a thing. Unfortunately it is a gift I cannot control.' At Ailie's continued scowl, he continued, 'Be assured that I cannot actually read your mind, dear child.'  
  
Ailie continued to stare at the old man, obviously deciding what to say next. Things had become very complicated for her in the last few weeks. Dumbledore watched in silence. He knew her story- it was one of the first things they had talked about.  
  
Her coven had retreated into the hills after the last festival of the moon, having discerned an evil presence near them. Ailie's parents had not agreed with the decision. Ailie herself had not known what to think- the presence had been sensed by their scrier, an art Ailie had never managed to master. But even she had noticed the changes in the landscape, the subtle signs that said someone, something was drawing near. Something had stalked the coven for weeks. If it was friendly, why had it not come forward?  
  
After three weeks underground, in the caves of the nearby hills that were the coven's winter home, Ailie's mother, Gwynnowsyn, had had enough. She had looked at the signs herself, and had not seen any danger. It was springtime, the most powerful time of the land's natural magic. Gwynn had always been a child of the air, and Ailie had taken after her. Ailie could understand her mother's feelings; her maternal line had always been headstrong, and when it wasn't possible to see the danger herself, it was hard to obey the decisions of the elderwitches of the coven.  
  
The elderwitches were planning to spend the rest of the year in the more defensible winter caves, emerging the next spring if the danger was over. It was a difficult thing for any witch to contemplate. Gwynn had decided to leave the safety of the hills, and pursue a trail aboveground, a journey she frequently did in the summer. Her lifepartner, and Ailie's father, Micael, had agreed, though perhaps out of reluctance to be parted from his everwife than anything. Ailie, though she was well of age within the coven and a powerful witch in her own right, had followed them. Though she had a sense of foreboding she couldn't ignore.  
  
Unfortunately, that feeling had been justified. They had been out in the fields for three days when the dark men had descended. They had been too surprised to put up much of a fight.  
  
Dumbledore felt extremely sorry for the girl but admired her strength. Apparently Ailie had watched as they killed her parents, in the most vile of ways. She had kept her eyes open the entire time. She had not been brought up to be a powerful witch, she said, just to turn her head from things she didn't like happening. She withstood it all, absorbing the pain. She knew there would be a time when these things could be used.  
  
Hopefully, the child would be able to use them in a way that would bring her no further harm. Dumbledore sighed, thinking of the many young ones over the years who had not been able to find that way. From the look of mistrust in the young woman's eyes, it was clear that she had not yet decided which way to go. He remembered seeing that same look, a thousand times. Draco Malfoy, Hervis Clement... Severus Snape. There was nothing he could do but wait for the outcome.  
  
  
  
Ailie looked at Dumbledore through hooded lids. She was unsure of what to tell this man.  
  
She had told him the details of her capture, and of the happenings there. Of course, there were some things she did not need to tell, and did not intend to. Things like, her parents, the people who had created her, had not uttered a sound when they died. After the things that had been done to them, what they too had been forced to watch, the light had simply gone out of their eyes. Things like, Ailie had known that they had already decided to die before the dark men threw their curses at them. Things like, she had felt every single stab of pain that had been inflicted on them.  
  
That the dark men had forced her to watch later, in the field where an even larger group of them had gathered, was laughable to Ailie. After what she had witnessed, did they really think they could hurt her? Her parents' souls were free, and what the men did to their bodies was of no account. Besides, Ailie had seen too much animal sacrifice to be appalled by gore.  
  
Ailie had known what was in store for her. She had quietly placed some strengthening and numbing wards over herself, preparing for her own death. It would almost have been a relief.  
  
Then that... man had mumbled some words at her, and she had been trapped. Trapped in her own body. There had been nothing but white; blinding, suffocating. And an overall feeling of grief. And... something else...  
  
When she had finally been able to fight her way through the fog, the man had been there. All she could think of was defence, though she had to admit that seeing the blood that seeped around the scissors she had put in his leg had afforded her some deeper gratification. She had tried some defensive magic, summoning powers to protect her. There had been nothing.  
  
And that was something she had not told the old man. There had been nothing since. Her skills were gone, without a trace that she had been a witch at all. Several times, millions of times, a thousand times a day, Ailie had tried to establish a link with her coven. They were linked by blood; there should have been something. There was not.  
  
It vexed her. Even the simplest of her skills had disappeared, sucked out of her it seemed. Nothing was as it had been before. Either she had been damaged in the ordeal, or her coven had performed a ceremony to drain her powers from her. Those were the only two options.  
  
On top of that, she had to deal with this. This was a world that made no sense. Dark wizards flapping around, young women trapping words for fun, and now this old man who was clearly a sorcerer, dressed in the clothing of a man in dotage. Ailie was not fooled. The man may have acted with nothing but kind concern whenever he was in her presence, but she could sense the fearful power in him. If this man wanted, he could make grown men cower in fear. It wouldn't even take his looking in their direction.  
  
Ailie did not know what to trust. She was still bearing the weight of grief, not having had time to even perform rituals of farewell to her parents' spirits. And now this man was reading her mind, and flooding her with waves of concern. Ailie felt his spell seep over her, inclining her to open her feelings to him, to confide. It was not a good feeling for a witch, this. Nevertheless, she was inclined to give in to the spell. She did need to discuss her situation, and telling him could do no harm.  
  
She took a deep breath.  
  
'I cannot find my coven,' she said, eyes cast down to the bedspread. 'We are linked by blood, and should be able to feel each other. I cannot.'  
  
Dumbledore turned his concerned gaze on her downturned head. 'I know. I am familiar with the customs of your coven- I spent a short time with a Wiccan coven myself when I was a boy.'  
  
Ailie looked up in surprise. Her people were notoriously private, covens rarely even speaking to each other. Part of their purpose was to keep out the otherworld. If this man spoke truth, he must be a very powerful mage indeed.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. 'I am quite familiar with your beliefs. In fact, in small doses, I feel they are very wise. Isolation is an important part of learning, especially where magic is concerned.' He sighed, and sat down in a nearby chair, a reminiscing look drifting over his eyes. 'I remember the power I felt during the time I was with the coven. The oneness. I wish all the children here had the chance to experience such a feeling; we may not have had as many problems as we have...' A brief sadness flickered in his eyes, then was gone. He looked back to Ailie. 'Alas, I was not suited to your way of life. It takes a dedication, a sense of self and others linked, that I do not have.'  
  
Ailie leant back against the pillows at the head of the bed, letting this new information sink in. The man did speak as one who had experienced coven life. She decided to air another problem that had been bothering her.  
  
'If you have been in a coven you will know about sense of self,' she began, toying with the fringe of the bedspread. 'I do not have that. It's not just that I can't locate the coven. I cannot perform magic. I cannot feel my self in my body.'  
  
Dumbledore nodded, then waited patiently for her to continue. Ailie felt a slight sense of relief. It was comforting to be able to tell someone who would understand; she had a sense that others in this strange wizard world would not know what she was talking about.  
  
'When I woke up, and that man was near me, I did the first thing that came to mind. It is one of my failings; my mother...' a brief spasm of grief tore through Ailie's stomach, but she overrode it, 'always said it was one of the obstacles to my becoming a great witch. But when I tried to perform wards of protection, when I tried to summon the powers nearby, I failed.'  
  
The old wizard looked contemplative. 'That may just be the wards around Hogwarts. We have very strict boundaries within the castle; we have had to in recent years.' He looked sad once more, but passed over it quickly. 'But there are ones that go bone-deep, placed by the founders four. Perhaps it is that old magic conflicting with your methods.' At this, Ailie shrugged. It was not an option she had considered, though if the spells the other wizard had placed on her had affected her so strongly... Her attention was regained as Dumbledore continued, 'In any case, it will take a simple walk to the Forbidden Forest or Hogsmeade to solve that question, and a walk would do you good. But you spoke of other things. Is there anything else troubles you?'  
  
Ailie drew a deep breath. This was the harder topic to discuss. 'I'm not sure. Ever since I woke up, I haven't been feeling selfsame. I have been of myself since I came of age at fourteen. I have always been in my self. Now, I am not.'  
  
'Your soul is gone?' Ailie knew what the old man meant. In her coven, to be a witch was to be a witch with every part of the self. Wicca could only be mastered if one was aware of every part of one's being, and if everything was in place. It was a sense of self that was all-powerful; selfsame. It was also the only way to master the magic. The concept of selfsameness was often confused with the soul by outsiders, or so she had been told in the brief talks elderwitches had had about the outside. She nodded slightly, then considered.  
  
'It is not exactly that. Sometimes, I do feel selfsame. But there are times when it feels... almost like someone is sitting on my shoulder.'  
  
Across from her, the old wizard's eyes sparked, and Ailie felt certain he had come across the answer. Instead of informing her of a solution, however, he rose. Patting her hand, he said, 'Do not worry yourself too much. You have been through a great deal.' Taking his leave, he headed out the door.  
  
Ailie looked after him, a deep worry in her stomach. She was no fool. Though his last words had been full of comfort, Ailie was well aware that there had been no actual reassurance in them. With a sigh, she lay back, determined to at least enjoy the trickle of sunshine still on her bed, and picked up a book.  
  
***  
  
Snape was surprised to see the Headmaster at his classroom door a few moments after the last of his third years had thundered out. Though he had been taking a relative amount of interest in the castle's latest guest, he had not expected to be taken to task about it, and there was no other business to conclude.  
  
His first idea had been the correct one, as he found when Dumbledore immediately began asking questions about the last Death Eaters revel.  
  
'I'm uncertain of what you wish to know,' Snape replied to Dumbledore's first question. He had not mentioned his strange attraction to the injured girl, but the man had the most uncanny way of ferreting out such things.  
  
'Oh, I'm sure you know, Severus,' the old wizard continued. 'You know, acting out of character, feeling strange sympathies, that sort of thing. Not feeling quite yourself.'  
  
Snape's shoulders slumped slightly, as he leant back on his desk. 'I will one day find out how you do that, old man.' He shook his head for a moment, then pulled his thoughts together. 'If you must know, I have felt... slightly unusual, of late.' He looked down, and traced the grain of the wood on the desk with one elegant finger.  
  
Dumbledore's look was sharp. 'Especially around the girl?'  
  
Snape almost sighed in frustration. His headmaster's omnipotence could be aggravating. 'Yes,' he bit out.  
  
'And you've feelings for her?'  
  
Snape just barely prevented himself from rolling his eyes. He settled for a glare instead. 'I am anything but a simpering hero from some soppy romance, Albus, and the fact that you could mistake me as such makes my very skin want to putrefy.'  
  
'I'll take that as a no.' Dumbledore looked at the ceiling, waiting. Snape knew what was expected of him.  
  
'I have found a strange tendency to want to... check in on the girl. Against all natural inclination, I find myself thinking about her, though why on Earth I would want to do that I do not know. Perhaps the effects of the last Cruciatus curse put upon me have at last addled my brain, or the Creevey brothers' idiocy has finally driven me into selinity.'  
  
Dumbledore sent him a wry look. 'So I am to take it that you, albeit unwillingly, have some link with the girl?'  
  
'Apparently so.'  
  
'Hmm.' The headmaster paced around the room idly, looking at the various items around the room, chuckling at burn marks on desks. It was a habit which particularly annoyed Snape, who hated being kept in suspense.  
  
'Anything you want to tell me, Albus?' he enquired in a darkly silken voice. Sarcasm practically dripped from his tone.  
  
Dumbledore looked up at him and smiled. 'Perhaps, Severus. You had several cuts on your hands the night you brought Ailie in, didn't you?'  
  
'Yes. I cut them when I clenched my fists in pain.' Snape's tone was bored, waiting for the ball to drop. He was not particularly fond of conversational jousting.  
  
Dumbledore nodded. 'I had thought as much. The girl had several cuts as well, you know. Between the two of you, you had blood everywhere, as I recall.'  
  
'Yes, a particularly fine night for Poppy. Now what is your point, if you would be so kind?'  
  
'Nothing, nothing,' Dumbledore answered, trailing a hand across a scarred desktop. 'I wouldn't worry about it. Just one of these interesting little things about Wiccans. Anyway,' he added, looking toward the corridor, from whence the sounds of students were approaching, 'I must leave you to your class. Thank you, Severus. I will see you at dinner.' With that, he left.  
  
Snape held back a sigh as the first students began trickling into the classroom. Obviously, Dumbledore wanted him to find out for himself the explanation of his strange behaviour. Judging by the oblique reference the old man had made to him missing lunch, which was right after his class, the answer would only come with a significant amount of research on his part, and was quite important. The old wizard obviously had a wonderful surprise in store for him, and couldn't wait for him to discover it. Great.  
  
He hated it when he did that.  
  
***  
  
The windows of the library were growing dark when Snape finally slammed shut the last book he was reading. He was fairly certain he had the answer. No, strike that, he definitely did have the answer, and he did not like it one bit.  
  
The headmaster had made careful reference to the fact that Snape and the girl had bled all over each other. Obviously, the important factor here was blood. Lots of blood. And, after exposing each other to their open wounds, they now shared it.  
  
Which, according to the texts on Wiccan culture, meant that they were bound together. And not just in the metaphorical sense, such as oversentimental heroes all too oft used as a masculine performance of their solidarity. No, by sharing blood, he and this girl were bound; mind, thought, and feeling.  
  
Ugh. Snape closed his eyes and tilted his head to the ceiling. As usual, he had a headache.  
  
Wiccans put great faith in themselves; it was, according to leading theorists, the strength behind their culture. Blood was an important factor in all aspects of humanity, especially magical communities. Wizard blood could be used in especially potent magical potions, and even muggles, in their usual confused manner, valued the strength of blood. Covens shared blood ties; not simply through birth, but through marriage and handbound friendship. When a Wiccan came of age, an open cut on the hand of every other member of the group was placed on their skin, linking them irrevocably. The blood on their skin provided a spiritual link that could only be banished through intense ceremony.  
  
When blood was transferred back and forth between two parties, however, the link was even more intense. Those linked could sense the feelings, even the thoughts of the other person. Parents and children could communicate without words. Those who chose to be handfasted- share blood through placing their bleeding hands together- would share a friendship that would last forever. And forget about casual sex. The strength of blood bonds in this type of magic brought an entirely new meaning to the term 'sexually transmitted.'  
  
In other words, Severus Snape was in deep shit.  
  
But at least the strange feelings of the last few weeks were explained. Quite neatly.  
  
Briefly, he clenched his hands on the table. The girl would have to be told, if she didn't already know. They were now linked; they were at least as close, mentally, as brother and sister. Snape avoided even mentally inserting the word 'marriage'.  
  
Controlling his anger at the situation, he swept out of the library, his mind fixing on one dim hope. The books had spoken of ceremonies to banish the blood tie; surely, a cure for this idiotic link could be found.  
  
***  
  
Hermione looked up at the sound of the library doors closing. Deep in thought, she hadn't noticed someone else was even there. With a shrug, she turned back to her book.  
  
Harry and Ron would have smiled. NEWTs were well and truly over, and here she was, still studying. Hermione had found it was a habit that she could not give up, especially now that she was back at Hogwarts. There was still so much to learn.  
  
Figuring that, as technically neither a student nor a staff member, she would not be allowed to borrow books for non-academic purposes, Hermione had taken to spending a lot of her spare time in the silent avenues of the library. It was practically her favourite place in the castle, anyway, much more familiar than her new spacious quarters.  
  
She sat back, and stretched her neck. She always felt better after a session in the library, after she could immerse herself in the history, the theory, the pure knowledge that the thousands of books held. To be completely honest, after her embarrassing encounter with Snape the night before, she had been startled out of her self-pity. If she was lonely, it was only her fault. Sure, the staff were still stand-offish; it was only natural. But she had her own resources, her own entertainments.  
  
It was actually talking to that girl this morning that had made up her mind for her. When she had walked in with a huge pile of books in her arms, Ailie had looked at her as if she had come from another planet. Hermione had wanted to run away, but she had forced herself to stay. Then, as they had begun to talk, Hermione had realised that the girl had only been reacting to a strange situation, not necessarily to her.  
  
The problem had run through her mind all day as she assisted in classes and took her own, and by lunchtime it had sunk in. If she was unhappy, no one would do anything about it but her. She was an adult now, and should act like it.  
  
Hermione, with her usual attitude to projects, had begun to plan. Tomorrow was Saturday, and she was determined to go to Hogsmeade. If the other teachers there invited her to join them in their wanderings, so much the better; if they did not, then she was entirely capable of enjoying herself. Afterward, she had arranged to have tea with Hagrid, who had been delighted at the suggestion and had almost suffocated her in a hug. And on Sunday, Hermione was determined to begin the real Plan: she would invite Minerva McGonagall to have tea with her, and they would have a nice chat, like real adults.  
  
Hermione let out a breath. She hoped it would work. When she had been Head Girl, she and McGonagall had been able to chat in a way that she had assumed was adult. Now, however, they rarely talked in the same way, Hermione assuming that the talks had simply been a part of the teacher's responsibilities to her students. It was part of her assumption that had guided the way she interacted with all the teachers, actually. However, when she thought about it, she realised that she had never really given it a try. It might have been her own fault if the teachers still treated her as a student. Besides, if she was to become a teacher at Hogwarts, the other teachers would simply have to get over her once having been a student.  
  
And now it was time for another part of her plan. Dumbledore had practically instructed her to make friends with the girl in the infirmary, and she had no objection. Ailie was, after all, an intriguing sort of person, and Hermione's natural curiosity had a hard time ignoring the need to investigate. Besides, it would be nice to talk to someone of her own age for once- something she had not done in the last month.  
  
Neatly putting away the books she had been reading, Hermione headed for the infirmary.  
  
***  
  
Snape had been pleasantly surprised to find the girl, for the second time in a row, asleep. For a moment, he stood over her, examining what was flowing through him.  
  
Now that he had a solid explanation, the feelings he had were easily identifiable. He could feel the girl's worry, and her slowly ebbing grief over her trauma. He could also feel her need for revenge, quite strong, unfortunately. He sighed. Revenge had never got anyone anywhere. What was that muggle saying that Dumbledore had told him as a boy?- Something about it best being cold. He well knew the truth of it. Though it was less satisfying to bide time, waiting as the fury slowly ebbed and one barely felt anything any more, it was certainly the most sensible option. If only because those who had inflicted the harm had stopped expecting retaliation. Their guard was down. Besides, the satisfaction of heated emotion was rarely worth it.  
  
Suddenly, the girl's eyes snapped open, and the familiar look of fury covered her face. Before she could raise her hand, Snape snapped his fingers, forcing her arms under the sheet that covered her, safely out of harm's way. She opened her mouth- Snape could see by the fire in her eye that it was with the intention of yelling at him- and he muttered a charm, designed for such situations. It would render her voiceless unless she assumed a calm tone- a spell that had come in handy quite a few times over his years as a teacher.  
  
A few entertaining minutes were spent watching the girl noiselessly mouth words at him, her fury growing when she heard no sound. It took her a full ten minutes to calm down, and another three to realise that she could speak if she did not yell.  
  
'Why,' she said, with a voice edged with fury, 'have you done this to me?'  
  
'At last I get to hear your true melodious tones,' Snape said calmly. 'It was difficult to discern them under that harpy's screech.'  
  
'Why, you-'  
  
Another minute was spent in furious silence. Snape raised an eyebrow. The girl may not have been actually speaking, but the words she was mouthing would have made Madame Pomfrey blush, if she had been in the room to see them. Unfortunately, since the girl had switched to English, her insults had gained the clarity of technicolour.  
  
Eventually she calmed down, forcing her voice into a low growl. 'When I get out of here, I will take a knife and-'  
  
'I think that's about enough.' Snape sent her a glare. 'You have been suffering under some misapprehensions- and your anger is justified, I will admit. But I will no longer tolerate your childish outbursts.'  
  
'Fuck you.'  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. 'I think not. Now, if you have quite finished-'  
  
Muttering under her breath, the girl stared at Snape intently. It may have been in Gaelic, but Snape knew a curse when he heard one. He was just raising his wand when a confused look came over her face, and she stopped speaking. At her frustrated look, Snape had a flash of comprehension.  
  
'Not working, is it?' he asked with dry satisfaction. At least the little witch couldn't hex him all the way to Hogsmeade.  
  
Ailie simply glared at him.  
  
Ignoring it, Snape continued, 'I have come to inform you of an interesting development. Professor Dumbledore instructed me-' it was practically true- 'to research some odd effects which, apparently, both you and I have exhibited since the night of the last revel.' At that, a familiar look came over the girl's face and Snape spent another amused moment watching her facial contortions as she tried to yell at him. He held up a hand to halt her, though she took no notice. This was fun. 'I am afraid I cannot inform you of what I have found unless you calm down and cease behaving like the harpy I have no doubt you really are-'  
  
His enjoyable speech was cut off by a loud gasp from the direction of the curtain. Startled, Snape twirled around to see the Granger girl standing with a shocked look on her face, one which was quickly turning to anger as she took in the struggling girl and the ominous Potions Master. Snape inwardly sighed. From past experiences- many, unfortunately- he knew what conclusions the girl would draw. He was just opening his mouth to speak when she beat him to it.  
  
'Professor Snape! How dare you-' With startling speed, the girl was beside the bed, muttering enchantments to release the bedridden witch. Snape had to admit he was impressed- the hexes were ones which he had learnt years after being a student. All too soon, the Ailie girl had regained her voice, and the infirmary rang with her yells. Miss Granger simply stood with her arm around the girl, glaring at the Potions Master.  
  
With his usual knack for knowing where the problems were, the Headmaster quickly appeared around the curtain. Snape was completely unsurprised.  
  
In a simple gesture, Dumbledore indicated that the noise level would be better at a less than ear-splitting level, and Ailie quieted. The headmaster turned his gaze to Snape.  
  
'Severus, I see you have informed our guest of your mutual problem,' he said.  
  
Snape shook his head. 'Unfortunately, Miss Granger here-' he indicated Hermione with a glare, 'interrupted us before we could discuss it.'  
  
'Discuss it!' Hermione's voice was incredulous, but at Snape's continued glare, she lowered her eyes to the floor, and remained silent.  
  
Ailie looked from one to the other, incredulous. She turned to Dumbledore. 'That-' she pointed to Snape, 'man placed curses on me to trap me and take away my voice, and then he insulted me, and reminded me of what he had done.' She finished with a Gaelic insult that Snape recognised as something particularly unflattering. He raised an eyebrow at her, which earned him another stare. Eventually, Snape realised that Dumbledore was waiting for an explanation.  
  
With an annoyed flutter of his hand, Snape elucidated, 'I could find no other way of talking to her.' Ailie snorted in disbelief.  
  
Dumbledore sent Snape a knowing glance, and the Potions Master looked away. He knew what the old man was thinking, and didn't like the feeling that he had been behaving like a child.  
  
'Well, Severus, as you now have Ailie's complete attention, perhaps it would be a good time to inform her of your discovery?'  
  
Snape sent the old wizard an annoyed glare, and turned to the young women. Ailie still had a hold of Miss Granger's hand, though the other girl was still staring at the ground.  
  
'You,' he managed in a cold tone, 'are a member of the Wiccan faith. When I brought you to Hogwarts both you and myself had a variety of bleeding cuts upon our persons. In other words, we have, due to unfortunate circumstances, shared blood. You should know the consequences.' From the shocked look on the girl's face, she did. 'We felt you should know.' With a polite bow to Dumbledore, Snape left. It was not required of him to make further comment.  
  
Behind him, Ailie was grasping for words. Dumbledore looked at her kindlily. Hermione turned to her, concerned.  
  
At Hermione's enquiring look, Ailie gestured for them both to sit down on the bed. She had trouble ordering her turbulent thoughts.  
  
'What he just said- that dark one- means that he and I are linked. Joined.' Hermione continued to look puzzled, and Ailie looked to Dumbledore for help.  
  
'It means that they are soulmates,' the old man said with a chuckle. 'Or, rather, that they can feel what the other is feeling, and occasionally even know what they are thinking.'  
  
'I hope he can sense what I am thinking now,' Ailie said darkly. Dumbledore chuckled.  
  
Hermione looked up at him. 'Is it true, though? Are they really- linked?'  
  
Dumbledore nodded, his mischievous smile disappearing. 'I'm not sure what we can do about this, my dear. I am not familiar with the procedures needed to break a blood-link-'  
  
'There are none.' Ailie's eyes were bleak. 'None that could be done without the help of my entire coven, and his coven. And he doesn't have one.'  
  
Hermione automatically put a protecting arm around her new friend, and Ailie smiled at her. Hermione smiled back.  
  
'Perhaps I can find a cure in the books in the library,' she suggested, glancing up at Dumbledore. At the shake of his head, she added, 'Or I could go to the Greater London Wizarding Archive. There's sure to be something there-'  
  
'I'm sure you want to help, my child, but if Ailie says it cannot be done, I'm afraid we must believe her. There are very few texts on Wicca, unfortunately,' said Dumbledore in a regretful tone.  
  
Ailie put her arm around Hermione and gave her a squeeze. 'Thank you for wanting to help, though.' She sighed, and looked at Dumbledore. 'I suppose I will just have to put up with it. Do you think that he is the reason I cannot contact my coven?'  
  
The headmaster shook his head. 'Severus's blood is not as potent as yours. It should not affect your abilities.'  
  
Ailie sighed. Perhaps she had been purged from the coven after all.  
  
Dumbledore took his leave, and Hermione did her best to entertain her new friend. Ailie was grateful. It was good to have someone friendly to talk to, and to think about things that were relatively unimportant. Besides, it would be helpful to have someone who was familiar with the castle. It would help her get her revenge on Severus Snape. 


	5. A New Beginning

Chapter Five- A New Beginning  
  
Hermione stretched her arms in the winter sun. The Christmas holidays were only a few days away, and she was glad. Teaching was a lot harder than it looked.  
  
Things were certainly looking up. Over the past two weeks, her visits to Ailie had taken up a lot of her time. There was still no place for the Wiccan witch to stay, and sitting in the infirmary all day had to be boring. It would be better once the students were gone for the summer, and it was safer for Ailie to wander about. After all, Voldemort thought she was dead.  
  
With time, the two girls were becoming close friends. Ailie's thirst for information on the cultures she was discovering matched Hermione's own curiosity, and Hermione was having fun introducing her new friend to the ins and outs of muggle and wizarding culture. Along the way, she was learning a considerable amount of Wicca theory and practice, and had a fascination for this new type of magic. The friendship was also helped along by the mutual feeling of being an outsider in the wizarding world; Hermione, although she had lived there for eight years, was finding it easy to talk to the Wiccan girl about her feeling of loneliness. Besides, it had been a long time since she had found a girl of her own age she could feel comfortable talking to.  
  
She was also visiting Hagrid with a fair amount of regularity, and was pleased that their friendship had remained unchanged. She had always loved Hagrid, and after all the turmoil of the last few years had felt as though he was family. Sitting with him in his hut was like coming home.  
  
Hermione sighed and sat further back on the stone bench, wrapping her warm cloak more tightly around her. She really missed Harry and Ron. She was only just coming to understand how much leaving school had affected her. When she had been at school, in her younger years, one of her uncles had laughingly told her, 'You don't want to grow up, little champ. Being in school is the best time of your life.' She hadn't believed him- this was something adults told children often, and children never understood why. Now, she believed him with all her heart. She had been in such a hurry to grow up, be mature, that she had never noticed how wonderful being a kid was.  
  
After seeing Ron and Harry all day, every day for all but two months of a year, she missed their company intensely. Being with Hagrid brought back some of that feeling; not much, but just enough to make Hermione realise she had to start living her life again.  
  
A giggle sounded behind her, and she felt a whoosh of breeze as a snowball flew past her ear. Another splattered on her back. Startled, she stood up and looked around, only to see a small group of young Griffindor and Hufflepuff students giggling behind their hands. The students were on the verge of finishing their first year, and hadn't lost their childish sense of fun. With laughing eyes, Hermione sent them a mock glare, which sent them into even more giggles.  
  
A strong voice rang out over the lawn, startling them all.  
  
'Ten points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for assaulting a teacher!' Severus Snape strode over the lawn to them, a scowl firmly placed on his face. Hermione inwardly cringed. She knew that look well. Obviously, Snape had been forced outside to monitor the children, and was wanting to take it out on anyone who dared cross his path. She saw the children's faces fall, and got up, brushing the grass from her robes with as much dignity as she could manage.  
  
She drew a deep breath. In their last conversation, Hermione had mentioned to Ailie her feelings as a student teacher. Ailie, who had noted Hermione's behaviour around the other teachers, had given her a pep-talk, though it had only restated something Hermione knew for herself: if she didn't start acting like a teacher, no one would treat her as one.  
  
Hermione knew that she had to start with Snape, simply because he was the most difficult. If she couldn't force herself to stand up to her old Potions Master, she could never walk the halls of Hogwarts with her head held high.  
  
'Professor Snape,' she began, disheartened my the pitiful squeak in her voice, 'these children weren't really doing any harm-'  
  
The professor cut her off with a raised eyebrow. Surveying her with a sneer, he abruptly turned, stalking across the lawn toward another group of students.  
  
Hermione sighed. He hadn't even paused to listen to her.  
  
With a small smile, Hermione looked over at the group of first-years, all of whom were fidgeting and looking at the ground.  
  
'Ten points to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for having the sense to enjoy the sunshine,' she said in a kindly tone, and was gratified to see the woebegone looks on the children's faces disappear. As they thanked her and ran off to play, she looked after the swiftly retreating Snape. There were some people who would never enjoy the sunshine, no matter what encouragement they were given.  
  
***  
  
Albus Dumbledore put his empty cup down on its saucer, and looked about with a pleased smile. It was a beautiful day, unseasonably warm, and the sun beat gently down on the secluded terrace. He looked back to his companion, Minerva McGonagall, with a smile.  
  
'I agree,' he said, answering her last question. 'Now, the only difficulty we have is introducing the girl to the rest of the school without causing suspicion.'  
  
Minerva adjusted the brim of her hat, shading her face from the weak winter sun. Unfortunately, her skin was of a disposition that burnt at the slightest hint of sunshine.  
  
'My mind has been dwelling on that,' she answered. 'I believe that Hermione's friendship with the poor girl may provide us with an answer.'  
  
Dumbledore smiled at the mention of one of their mutual favourites. Although, to be completely truthful, most students that passed through the halls of Hogwarts were the favourite of the old wizard, Dumbledore was pleased that Miss Granger had decided to make a return to Hogwarts after graduating. Over the years, with her various escapades with her young friends, he had grown to be quite fond of the girl.  
  
Minerva had a particular soft spot for Hermione, he knew. His old friend had found a sparking intelligence in the girl that matched her own.  
  
Dumbledore drew his attention back to his companion, eyebrows raised in encouragement.  
  
'Well,' continued Minerva, 'The closeness the two girls have formed over the last few weeks has given me an idea. I thought,' she said, taking a small sip of her cooling tea, 'that Hermione could introduce Ailie as her cousin.'  
  
'What a wonderful idea!' said Dumbledore, conveying the impression that it was the best he had ever heard. Minerva smiled. Sometimes, her friend's childlike love of things was touching.  
  
'Well,' she said, finishing her tea and putting it down, 'We shall see if it can be put into action over the summer.'  
  
Her companion nodded, and summoned a tray of biscuits from the tea table. He offered her one, before taking a bite of his.  
  
In companionable silence, the two wizards sat in the sun and contemplated the day.  
  
***  
  
Hermione sat on Ailie's bed, browsing through a magazine. The other girl had wanted to know more about general muggle and wizard culture, and Hermione, remembering Lavender and Parvarti's obsessions with such things, had ordered a few magazines in.  
  
The effect they were having on the two girls was undoubtedly not what the publishers had intended, with Hermione occasionally exclaiming, 'Oh, I can't believe they'd use such language as that!', and Ailie chuckling over the letters sections.  
  
'I cannot believe this!' she exclaimed. 'This witch here is actually writing in to ask what positions she should try for-'  
  
'Let me look at that!' squeaked Hermione, with uncharacteristic girlishness. They had been looking at the magazines for the better part of an hour, and Ailie's giggles were catching. She read the rest of the letter, and broke into fits of laughter. Just when she had begun to calm down, she caught Ailie's eye.  
  
'With a hose?' Ailie said incredulously, referring to the advice witch's reply. This set both of them off again.  
  
Finally, Hermione caught her breath again, and pulled herself up. Both of them had ended up flat on their backs, in the helpless way of those caught in giggles. She wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye and picked up another magazine.  
  
She was startled by the discreet cough that came around the curtain, and looked up to see Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall waiting patiently. quickly, she put the magazine aside and jumped down from the bed, embarrassed.  
  
McGonagall moved forward with a gentle smile, and looked at both of the girls.  
  
'I think we may have a plan for introducing our guest to the school,' she said.  
  
Hermione looked at her eagerly. It had been some weeks since Ailie had arrived at the school, and Hermione could sense that the girl was impatient to extend her world beyond the confines of the infirmary. For her own part, Hermione was itching to introduce Ailie to her life; showing her around the castle, seeing her reactions to people. The library, she was certain, would entertain the enthusiastic girl almost as much as it intrigued herself.  
  
Dumbledore stepped forward, and motioned for Hermione to take a seat. She did, and glanced at Ailie a little nervously.  
  
'It is, of course, desirable to have our young guest here more comfortably settled here at Hogwarts,' he began, with a warm smile at Ailie, who smiled back. Hermione had noticed that Ailie's initial coldness toward Dumbledore had melted with further acquaintance. The old wizard continued, 'However, since our friend Tom Riddle believes you to be dead, Ailie, I have felt it more advisable to keep your existence here a secret.' Ailie nodded. 'Therefore, letting Ailie out amongst the students at large would not be a good idea.' Here, he turned to his old friend to continue.  
  
'We have decided that the best way for Ailie to stay would be for her to be here as somebody's relative,' the witch said in her usual straight- forward manner. 'Hermione, we thought it best, since you and Ailie have become such good friends, to ask you.'  
  
Hermione felt a little taken aback at first, but recovered and looked quickly at her friend. Ailie seemed to show no revulsion at the thought of posing as her relative; in fact, her friend looked positively delighted. Hermione gave in to the feeling and grinned herself.  
  
'I would love it,' she said. 'I mean, it would be an honour.'  
  
Both professors grinned.  
  
'Wonderful,' Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling with pleasure. 'In that case, with a few preparations, Ailie can begin her life in the castle almost immediately.'  
  
McGonagall sent him a slightly wry glance before interrupting, 'Although it will not be quite as simple as that, of course. We will have to make a few preparations. A background for Ailie, for instance, and a name.'  
  
'Well, even we don't know Ailie's proper name,' said Hermione.  
  
'You wouldn't be able to pronounce it anyway,' Ailie answered with a shrug. 'Why don't I just take Hermione's last name?'  
  
'Well,' said McGonagall with a slight frown. 'That would be the most obvious way. However, we would need to take some other precautions. There may be some people who would be interested in a new resident of Hogwarts suddenly appearing in these times.' Ailie raised an eyebrow and looked at Hermione, who nodded.  
  
'My father has some cousins in Scotland,' she said. 'I'm certain if I owl him he can arrange a story with them.'  
  
McGonagall nodded. 'That would account for part of Ailie's strange accent, as well, although it's not one that I can place, I'm sure.'  
  
Ailie grinned. 'I think we have our own. My mama always said... well, she didn't know anyone who had the same accent.' The girl looked down briefly. When she looked up again, her face was composed, but her eyes were shining.  
  
Dumbledore coughed, and stepped forward. 'Well,' he said in a solemn tone, 'now we can at least get Ailie here settled, away from the infirmary. Unless Miss Granger has any objections?'  
  
'No, of course not,' answered Hermione automatically, concerned for her friend. She looked at Dumbledore, puzzled. 'Objections to what?'  
  
'It would be best if Ailie moved into your rooms,' answered McGonagall, smiling gently.  
  
'We will extend them, of course,' added the old wizard beside her.  
  
Hermione sat down, a little taken aback. It had been a few years since she had had to share rooms with someone. As of her fifth year, when she had become a prefect, she had moved into a private room, away from the dormitory. After only a few years spent sharing with others, she had relished having her own space. And, while she was beginning to be friends with Ailie, she still didn't really know her well.  
  
Ailie sensed her friend's trepidation.  
  
'Uh- living together might not be such a good idea.' She shrugged. 'I'm not really used to living so close to anyone- I've had my own hut since I was about fourteen-'  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. 'I wouldn't worry too much about that, dear girls. We have plans.'  
  
McGonagall smiled. 'If you have time, we will show you right now.' She looked at Dumbledore, who nodded. The old wizard led the way to the infirmary's fireplace, and threw in a pinch of floo power from a box in his pocket.  
  
'Hermione Granger's quarters,' he said, and with a chivalrous gesture indicated for McGonagall to step in before him.  
  
Hermione and Ailie followed, looking at each other with puzzled glances.  
  
  
  
  
  
An hour later, Ailie and Hermione were sitting on Ailie's new couch, in Ailie's new quarters, exhausted. Though McGonagall and the headmaster had both initiated the plan, they had needed Hermione's help with many of the complex spells. For Ailie's part, the new experience of moving furniture around had drained what energy she had recuperated. Dumbledore and McGonagall calmly sat and sipped tea in front of them, looking quite pleased with themselves.  
  
Ailie looked around her new residence. It was light and airy, all polished wood and cream, with brightly coloured furniture adding some excitement. The two older wizards had cringed at the younger girl's extravagant choices, but she had been undissuadable. Though she had never decorated before, she knew what she wanted, and was happy with it.  
  
She watched as Hermione summoned a cup and the teapot, and grimaced. The ease with which these people wielded wand and spell was frightening. They never seemed to respect the consequences of their actions, or even acknowledge them.  
  
Their ignorance of consequences did have some advantages, however, she considered as she settled back into the plump red couch. She had stood amazed as the three wizards had created an entire new set of rooms, magically altering the space inside Hermione's existing rooms and placing a complicated spell upon the door. Ailie didn't quite understand how it worked, but she now could access her own, private rooms via Hermione's door with her own special password, without ever having to go inside Hermione's space. Essentially, the girls would be only neighbours, while it would appear that Ailie was staying in Hermione's rooms.  
  
It was the perfect solution. The two young women could live their lives as they wished, yet were close enough to visit. The complicated door system also added to Ailie's safety, if the need should arise; the set of rooms, in reality, didn't exist. It was another of the things that Ailie didn't completely understand, but Dumbledore had told her it was best not to think about it.  
  
Ailie watched Hermione delicately sip at her cup of tea, and felt her mouth go dry. A cup of tea- black, with two sugars, that would really hit the spot. She frowned. This wasn't like her. She had never drank a cup of tea in her life, and here she was positively... lusting after one. And there was another thing...  
  
She groaned, and rubbed her forehead. She was getting a headache, and she never got headaches. It was a big one, too, almost like a migraine...  
  
Hermione looked at her with concern, as did the other two wizards. Ailie missed the knowing look McGonagall and Dumbledore shared.  
  
'Are you all right?' Hermione asked. Ailie nodded, and groaned at the pain that lanced through her head.  
  
'I'll get you a headache potion, we have plenty in stock,' said McGonagall, rising.  
  
'I think I will be okay, if I can just have a cup of... tea?' Ailie asked, wincing. 'No, just black, thanks. Two sugars,' she said, as Hermione reached for the teapot and milk. The other girl raised an eyebrow, but complied.  
  
McGonagall sat back down as Ailie took a first sip.  
  
'Yuk,' Ailie said, pulling a face. She took another sip, and a look of relief came over her face. She looked up, to see the other three looking at her with varying mixes of curiosity, puzzlement, and amusement.  
  
'Severus will be finishing his class soon, Minerva,' said Dumbledore, quietly, folding his hands in his lap.  
  
'Yes, I'll take him a potion directly,' said the professor absently, looking at Ailie curiously. 'I never knew...'  
  
'Yes, well,' interrupted the headmaster. 'Just see if you can get him to take it, will you?' His colleague nodded at this obvious dismissal, and, with nods at the two girls, left the room.  
  
Hermione looked at the door, then back at Dumbledore, confused. 'What,' she asked, 'does this have to do with Professor Snape?'  
  
'Hmm? Oh, nothing, my dear, nothing at all. He just usually gets a headache around this time of day, that's all,' answered the headmaster, rising to leave. 'Well, I will leave you two ladies to get settled in, then.'  
  
They watched him go, and Hermione turned to her friend. 'What could that have been about?'  
  
Ailie sighed, looking down into the now cold tea. She was afraid she knew.  
  
***  
  
Over the next few days, Hermione watched her friend closely. Although Ailie was unable to wander about the school until the students left, being in her new rooms was an improvement on the infirmary. Here, Ailie could at least see the grounds of Hogwarts, from her window overlooking the lawn. Also, now that she was almost back to her old strength, she was able to exercise quietly in her rooms. Apart from that, the various books and items that Hermione brought her each day were enough to keep the curious girl occupied.  
  
However, there were times that Hermione felt her friend was not herself. Though she had not known her long, Hermione instinctively felt that the odd moods her friend exhibited from time to time, and the occasional dry remark, were out of character. At times she was almost... Hermione couldn't put her finger on it, but it was odd.  
  
One evening, the night before the term was due to end, the pair were sitting in front of the fire in Ailie's sitting room. Having dealt with as much of the wizarding world as she could without actually taking Ailie out into it, Hermione had decided to show Ailie some of the theory that students at Hogwarts learnt. They had been discussing the various aspects of arithmancy. Hermione had been talking at length, almost to herself, about one of the problems in Arithmancy that had always puzzled her, when Ailie snapped at her.  
  
'I would have thought, Hermione, that with a brain such as yours you could have grasped the rather obvious answer to this quandary.'  
  
Hermione took the comment in, and with a frown set her book aside. She turned to face her friend.  
  
'Right,' she said, mentally pushing her sleeves up. 'Ailie, is something wrong?'  
  
Ailie looked back at her, her face drawn. 'Um... not anything that I really want to talk about.'  
  
'I think you need to talk about it. For the past three days, ever since you moved in here, in fact, you've been acting... well, snappy. There has to be something wrong.' Hermione paused, waiting for an answer. When none was forthcoming, she sighed. 'I knew it. You're annoyed that I hang around so much. I'll just-'  
  
Ailie stayed her hand, reaching out to stop Hermione from gathering up the books lying around them. 'Hermione, really, it's not you. I like having you around. I really do,' she added, seeing her friend's sceptical look. 'I've really enjoyed having a friend around. It keeps my mind off, well, everything.' Hermione shot her an understanding look, and Ailie slid back into her chair. 'I just... Well, I know what's wrong, but I don't really want to talk about it. Really,' she added, at Hermione's look of hurt.  
  
'If there's something wrong, I want to help you,' Hermione said quietly.  
  
'No. You can't. Not everything can be solved by your massive intellect, Miss Granger.'  
  
Hermione's eyes widened. Those words almost echoed ones uttered years ago, and the tone was exactly right. I have no time for insufferable know- it-alls, Miss Granger. Those words had come like a slap to the face, many years earlier. And now Hermione knew exactly what Ailie's problem was.  
  
'You're channelling Snape!' she cried. Noting Ailie's look of puzzlement, she clarified, 'You're taking on his behaviour.'  
  
Ailie's face crumpled slightly. 'That's what I was afraid was happening.' She sighed, and looked into the fire with a pensive air.  
  
Hermione stared, fascinated. Now that she could see it, she didn't know how she had managed to miss it. Ailie's jaw was set in exactly the way Snape often looked when he was feeling frustrated and thought no-one was looking. She had noticed it in the staff-room often. And the way her shoulders hunched-  
  
Whoa, there Hermione, she thought, giving herself a mental shake. Since when had she noticed so much about Snape, evil Snape that everyone hated, Snape that had tortured herself and her friends for seven long years? Hermione set that aside for later contemplation. Much later.  
  
'Ailie, there has to be a cure for this. We can't just let you turn into Snape,' she said, patting her friend comfortingly on the shoulder.  
  
Ailie shook her head. 'As I told you, the only way out of this is for my coven and his coven to perform the ceremony. He doesn't have one. And neither do I, anymore.'  
  
Hermione frowned with concern. 'Ailie. You can't think like that.' The girl hadn't said much about her coven, even after all their talks, and that, perhaps, had been the greatest sign to Hermione that her friend had been worried about their lack of contact. Dumbledore had people out trying to track them down, but the group of Wiccans were nowhere to be found. It seemed almost as if they had vanished from the earth- or, more likely, had magically altered the landscape to cover up the entrance to their hide-out. Hermione was leaning toward the latter. If she had had a psychic link to someone who had been tortured and killed by Death Eaters the way Ailie's parents had, she would have done everything she could to cover her tracks.  
  
'Yes, I can, Hermione. If they were out there, I would feel them. They've either purged me, or they're dead. I'd rather believe the former.' Ailie's tone was cold, but the eyes she turned to Hermione held a plea in them. Hermione went over and knelt by her chair.  
  
'You can't believe that, Ailie, either of those solutions.' She took Ailie's hand in hers, studying the fine skin on the strangely cold hand. 'I know that you have to consider that, possibly, one of those things has happened to your coven. But you can't accept them as truth until we've ruled out all the possibilities, Ailie,' she said, looking into her friend's eyes, willing her to believe. 'You can't give up on them so easily, or believe that they'd give up on you. We will find what happened to them.'  
  
Ailie stared into her eyes, fighting to regain control. Hermione could almost see Snape slithering beneath her friend's skin, and felt a surge of anger at the man. Just because he wanted to be a lonely outcast who could depend on no-one, it didn't mean that her friend should have to suffer such loneliness as well.  
  
'Ailie, we will find the answers. I promise I will help you until we can.'  
  
A slice of pain went through the other girl's eyes at the words, and her jaw clenched against the tears that brimmed in her eyes. Hermione, not knowing what to do, remembered Molly Weasley. The woman seemed always to believe that anything could be fixed by a good hug, no matter who it was- even someone possessed by a grumpy old recluse. Without much experience in the area, Hermione decided it couldn't hurt.  
  
Ailie's body was stiff and cold as Hermione timidly wrapped her arms around her. Gaining confidence, Hermione hugged tightly, willing whatever strength she could to her friend. Slowly, the other girl relaxed, wrapping Hermione in a hug that almost squeezed the life out of her. As Ailie broke into deep sobs, Hermione rubbed her back, her brow furrowed in thought.  
  
She wondered whether this was the way Severus Snape felt every night. 


	6. I Can't Be Bothered Making Up A Title!

Snape Gets His  
  
Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim, confusedly and at length, that I have ever understood why it is necessary to have disclaimers. Okay, yes, they are necessary, but I really dislike it. I'm not going to steal another person's intellectual property, not only because I want to write all of my own stuff and would hate to even have a sniff of someone else's ideas in one of my original pieces, but because plagiarism is stupid. With the rate of successful litigation cases today, you're best to just stay away from another person's stuff. But , really, some companies take it too far. I mean, you can get sued for writing a copyrighted term down. Well here- Harry Potter. Woo. Hogwarts. Ooh, scary. I'm saying a copyrighted term. Take that, Warner Bros. Oops, that's also copyrighted.  
  
Sorry, but I just get annoyed by all that crap.  
  
Notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. This chapter is a bit longer, and also Snape begins to Get His in it. Trust me, next chapter, he really is going to have his ass kicked. I hope I did Hermione okay- it's hard to picture her doing certain things as an adult, but I did my best.  
  
  
  
Chapter Six  
  
Snape sat up, sweat beading the lines of his brow. As his eyes took in the darkness, he realised that he had fallen asleep in front of the fire place again. Fire place, not fire- never a fire to warm the hearth in this particular part of the dungeons.  
  
Dungeons, Snape reflected, as his posture relaxed from its ramrod- straight position. Just the place, really. He couldn't have asked for a more fitting set of lodgings. Snape half-smiled, remembering. No, he really couldn't have asked- he had only been eleven when he had been placed in them, a twisted soul even then.  
  
Snape didn't fool himself. Every part of his life, he had chosen. Every damned part. Certainly, his parents had been slightly cold when he was a child- they had been upper-class, middle-aged, and English. All people of such a type, raised in an era of logic instead of emotions, regarding child-bearing as an investment rather than a blessing, were cold. They could have been worse.  
  
Certainly, at the time in which he had joined it, the House of Slytherin was a true snakes' nest, full of calculation and guile, where children became cold hearts instead of sweethearts. It was no secret that Voldemort had found the greater part of his supporters in the graduates of Slytherin House. But there had been those who had graduated with quite clean consciences, and gone on to succeed with ways no more underhanded than understanding the game of life better than others. And Slytherin had been a Dark house long before Severus Snape had been sorted into it- the Sorting Hat had known what it was doing.  
  
No. There was not even a chance for blame amongst his comrades in the Dark. He had joined Voldemort with very little encouragement, of his own free and calculated will. It had just taken him a little time to see that those who lusted after power through such means as joining the Dark Lord were the most powerless of all.  
  
No-one had stayed his hand while he had watched countless innocents die. No-one had forced him to keep going when he had begun to wake up every morning, screaming. No-one had controlled his actions as he calculatedly poisoned his beloved art of potions by inventing wonderful little concoctions with new and ingenious ways of prolonging death, controlling agony; ensnare the mind and bewitch the senses, indeed. No-one had made him do all the things that he relived in his dreams every single night.  
  
He had no-one to blame except his own sweet self.  
  
Which he did, quite liberally, every night. And hated himself all the more for it, for his weakness in regretting that which could not be changed.  
  
But here was something puzzling. He had fallen asleep, not unusual in itself, this time of evening. He had dreamed, again not at all unusual, as his sleeping hours were often more active than his wakeful ones- another reason for embracing insomnia. In his dream, however, he had been overwhelmed by a feeling of peace. The demons which usually haunted him had all been gradually chased away, pushed aside by a comforting hand. He had a feeling that he had been... embraced, enveloped by warmth. He had cried, something that he had not done since a child. And with the tears had come a feeling of being purged, being comforted, if not forgiven. It was as if he had been held by the night. It was the most wonderful feeling he had experienced in a very long time.  
  
It was also very unsettling. Though Snape despised the self-pity and regret that visited him each night, he knew that it was just. The things he had done deserved no forgiveness, no pity. He could do what he could to atone for his deeds, but there could be no hope for forgiveness. Such a feeling was a poison in his soul, and the self-disgust for wanting to accept such forgiveness was harsher than anything that had come before.  
  
With a curse, he stood, and began to pace the room. The initial feeling of strangeness that had come when he rescued the girl had not resided with knowing what was wrong with him. Dumbledore had warned him that this new- thing, curse, whatever it was- would be affecting his moods, but he hadn't expected this. The dream had felt so real. It was difficult to assure himself that he had just been experiencing that girl- Ailie's- emotions. The little wench. Well, this was obviously his punishment for saving her. He supposed he deserved no less.  
  
Another wave of feeling washed over him. This time it was different, something he had never really experienced before, something he couldn't define. He liked it all the less for it. A growl sounded deep in his chest. He couldn't handle this any more.  
  
Perhaps a patrol of the corridors would help him purge these emotions.  
  
***  
  
Hermione stayed until Ailie was ready for bed. She tried not to show it, but she was extremely worried for her friend.  
  
And extremely angry at Severus Snape.  
  
Ailie had never really said anything about the night her parents had died. In fact, the only reason Hermione knew that they had died was through Dumbledore's explanation. Tonight, however, the walls she had built up had been washed away, the story flowing from her with her tears. Hermione was glad- it had surely done Ailie good to at least talk about how she was feeling.  
  
That Ailie hated Snape with a passion was undoubted. Hermione could understand- to Ailie, Snape was part of the group that had done this to her. She could also appreciate what Snape had risked to save Ailie. After all, he had done it before, in her presence, some years ago. Hermione knew that Severus Snape was a hero of sorts.  
  
However, Hermione also knew that he was a cruel bastard, and everything Ailie had told her seemed to confirm it quite well. To imprison a girl, lock her hands beneath the sheets and take away her power of speech, just after she had gone through the ordeal she had, was cruel and also stupid. Hermione, who had done the required psychology course for her teaching diploma, and had pursued the subject further for fun, was aware of the psychological after-effects of trauma. Surely Snape, with all his own personal experience in that area, could have comprehended what he was doing to the girl. There was no excuse- he was just being the cruel bully he was.  
  
But that wasn't the real reason for Hermione's anger. Seeing her friend tonight, all but embodied with the spirit of Severus Snape, Hermione had been truly scared. If Ailie and Snape were truly linked by blood, who knew what sort of experiences Snape could have passed on to her? Snape had done some terrible things in his time, things that Ailie probably wouldn't be able to handle right now, having just been on the receiving end.  
  
Surely there was something the man could have done to prevent this. The whole situation reeked of his usual carelessness of other people's feelings. Having been in his classroom for seven years of her childhood, Hermione was still under the impression that Snape, while a bastard, was at least an amazingly intelligent bastard. She had no doubt that he could find a cure for whatever this thing was that linked him and Ailie. He had ruled his class like a god for seven years, seemingly knowing everything there was to know about potions, and Hermione held on to the childhood belief that he could find the cure if he wanted to.  
  
No, it the fault lay at his feet if Ailie suffered. He was the one with the knowledge of wizard magic. He was the one that had stood idly by for the past two weeks, not even visiting the girl he had rescued; not even checking if his accidental 'soul mate' was okay.  
  
Before Ailie had agreed to go to bed, she had muttered something that had given Hermione an idea. Ailie had talked about getting her revenge on Snape, something which, although perhaps desirable, Hermione knew was impractical. Where did revenge get anyone? But the remark had given rise to the question- why were they just sitting around? If Snape wasn't doing anything about the situation, at least Hermione could. She had the vast library of Hogwarts at her fingertips, and the libraries at the British Wizard Museum were only a short walk to Hogsmeade and an apparation away. They hadn't even looked for an answer before they gave up on one.  
  
With the bright spark of an idea in her mind, Hermione decided to head for the library. Dumbledore had kindly informed her that access after hours was quite acceptable for teachers, dispelling her former worries. There had never been a chance for sleep for Hermione once she had an idea in her head, and there wouldn't be now that she finally knew she had work to do.  
  
Making sure that Ailie was asleep, Hermione slipped out of the door, darting into her own rooms for a pad of paper and a pen. She could begin by making a list of all the books likely to help- that would be a start, at least for tonight.  
  
Out of habit, Hermione cast an invisibility spell on herself and her belongings, enjoying the quiet of the night. She decided to wander a little, before heading for the library, to enjoy the glint of moonlight on the wintry landscape through the windows. Besides, being the last night before term, there was a chance that some students would risk reprimand to say a private goodbye to their sweethearts, and the Christmas spirit would lead to more high-jinks than usual. It couldn't hurt to do a brief patrol of the corridors.  
  
Turning a corner, Hermione smiled. Bingo. Two students- third-years, by the looks of them- were enjoying a quiet moment behind one of the statues. From the other direction- Hermione was interested to note that it was the direction leading to the dungeons- they would have been invisible, but approaching from Gryffindor Tower they were in clear sight. Obviously, they were counting on no-one but grumpy Snape to be wandering about at this time of night.  
  
Hermione's smile widened as she decided to play a trick on them. Giving them the scare of their lives might just prevent them from choosing a little nighttime rendezvous next time they were desperate to might. It was also a bit of fun.  
  
As quietly as she could, Hermione walked up to the pair, huddled together behind the statue. She got close enough to breathe on them before speaking.  
  
'Boo,' she said, quietly. The whisper reverberated in the still night.  
  
Both students shrieked gratifyingly as Hermione undid the invisibility charm on her, looking about as scared as a couple of students caught necking by a teacher could be.  
  
'All right, you two. I can take a guess as to why you're out here, but I'm sorry to say that we can't let you guys wander about out here at night, no matter how much you're going to miss each other.' With the look of extreme shock fading from their countenances, the two students watched Hermione apprehensively. She smiled at them. 'Five points from each of your houses, and off to bed. Go on,' she added, when the relieved pair hesitated.  
  
'Twenty points. Each.' The threatening undertone shattered the stillness in the corridor, and Hermione turned, just as startled as the students.  
  
'Bed. Now,' said Snape, approaching from the direction of the Gryffindor Tower. The two words were less an instruction than an underlying threat as to what would happen if he was disobeyed.  
  
The two students scuttled off in opposite directions. Hermione sighed, mentally counting to ten. This was the second time Severus Snape had corrected her actions.  
  
'That will be five points from their houses. Each,' she corrected, as Snape began to sweep past her.  
  
'What?' His tone was one of disbelief.  
  
'They were my students. They will be punished according to my orders,' Hermione stated, in as firm a voice as she could manage. Snape was doing his level best to glare her down, and even with almost eight years' experience in it Hermione was having trouble not wanting to whimper and run away.  
  
'Miss Granger,' Snape began, a sneer evident in the words. 'While your loyalty to your fellow Gryffindors is... heartening, the children were out of bounds after curfew, and needed to be reminded that such behaviour is unacceptable.' Snape briefly looked her up and down. 'As is yours. I will escort you back to your quarters.'  
  
Hermione drew a sharp breath. Ailie had told her that she was letting Snape walk over her, but he had never done something as unbelievably patronising as this.  
  
'Those two students were Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw,' she said, as he turned to go. he turned back sharply.  
  
'What?' Snape turned on her. He was at least two meters away, and yet strangely Hermione felt like she needed to step back. She fought it.  
  
'I was not favouring my house, Professor Snape. Those two students were from two entirely different houses to that from which I graduated over a year ago.' She clenched her jaw briefly, fighting the instinct to back off under his glare. 'I, like you, have now graduated from this school. And I, like you, do not favour students.' Hermione stared straight into the black pools of Snape's eyes, willing him to take her up on it. After the initial reaction to his commanding tone, Hermione's body was filled with fear-driven adrenaline, and she was well on the way to working it into anger. Just say that I favour Gryffindor students, Snape, she thought. Just dare me to do it.  
  
Snape, however, merely raised an eyebrow.  
  
'Therefore I say it is only five points, from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff,' Hermione finished. Seeing the flicker of anger through Snape's dark eyes, she swallowed. Enough bravery for tonight. 'Now, if you will excuse me, I was on my way to the library.'  
  
'Then I will wait.' Snape crossed his arms. 'And it will be twenty points from each of those houses, Miss Granger,' he added, in a deliberately condescending tone, 'I believe that you would be wise to bend to my experience on these matters. After all you are still a student-' he paused, 'teacher.'  
  
Hermione bit down on her lip in anger. His threat was clear; try to face up to him and he would do something to sabotage her teaching degree. Well, there were other ways to skin a cat. She would simply make sure that she saw those two students doing something that warranted fifteen points each, tomorrow.  
  
'If you wish to stand around in the cold waiting for a colleague to complete a night's research, it is no concern of mine, Professor Snape. Just make sure you don't get in my way.' Another flash of anger sliced through Snape's eyes, and Hermione knew she had pushed too far. Perhaps if she had backed down, he would have left her alone, but now he had the look in his eyes that he always had when he was going to make someone's life hell.  
  
Hermione turned on her heel and headed for the library before she could start to imagine what that something was.  
  
***  
  
The next few hours proved Hermione right. Snape didn't hover, didn't interfere. He simply leant against the wall and stared at her, ruining any chance at concentration. Hermione had always been a self-conscious girl, and being under Snape's stare was unsettling at the best of times. This was even discounting the new edge in his gaze, something which disturbed her more. As she had walked towards the library, Hermione had felt Snape's stare every step of the way. He had never looked at her like that when she was a student, his glares being much more cold-hearted. Somehow, Hermione could sense that cold didn't have very much with the way he was staring at her now. She had finally stood up to him as a woman, and he was punishing her for it by finally treating her as one.  
  
It wasn't that his gaze was offensive. Hermione couldn't imagine the arrogant Potions Master stooping so low as sexual harassment. He simply seemed to take all of her in, assessing her. From the glimpses she had got of his face, the summation wasn't particularly flattering. And that was a part of his calculated plan.  
  
The unwavering gaze also prevented Hermione from relaxing into the work as she would normally have done. With every movement, feeling the assessing eyes on her, Hermione also assessed. Only half-consciously, Hermione found herself wondering if she was graceful enough, if her limbs were awkward, if the way she held her quill looked strange.  
  
It was as thorough a punishment as she had ever received.  
  
After two hours, with very little work done, Hermione was tired of the tension. Snape was determined to ruin her evening, and he had succeeded. As she rose and gathered her things, she tried to console herself with the thought that she wouldn't have worked longer than that anyway. It didn't make her feel better as Snape proceeded to follow her as she left for her rooms.  
  
As she turned a corner and was momentarily out of his sight, Hermione was struck by a sudden idea. Quickly, she charmed herself invisible, and grinned. It would serve him right to lose her.  
  
She stood and watched as Snape rounded the corner. Her smile faded somewhat when Snape showed no surprise at her disappearance. He stopped, dark eyes glittering in the moonlight, and raised an eyebrow.  
  
'Miss Granger, there is no need to behave like a child,' he said in a normal tone of voice, casually leaning against the wall.  
  
When Hermione didn't reply, he continued, 'Though your ability with invisibility charms is no doubt admirable, Miss Granger, there was nowhere else for you to have gone in this corridor. Your usual logical faculties seem to have failed you, undoubtedly along with your apparent maturity. I, however, have no patience for childish displays.'  
  
'Childish!' The disbelieving word burst from her before she could stop it. Hermione gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth, realising that that was precisely what Snape had been angling for. He began to walk purposefully toward her, and Hermione sighed. Snape had that look on his face again- the look that said that if she annoyed him any further, he would ensure she would regret it. Deftly she removed the invisibility charm, before he could reach her.  
  
'I am capable of walking to my rooms alone, Professor Snape.'  
  
'Indeed.' Snape let his sneering gaze wander over her. Hermione bit back a sigh of frustration, turned on her heel and stomped all the way to her room, uncaring of what Snape thought.  
  
When she finally got to her door, she opened it with a wave of her wand and stormed inside. The door closed with a very satisfactory slam, but it didn't quite block out the amused look on Snape's face.  
  
Hermione lay back on her bed. What an infuriating man. No, he didn't deserve to be called a man. He was too cold, too controlled for that. He reminded her of a time when she was eight, and playing with her older, male cousins. She had pestered them all day to play with her, refusing to accept 'no' as an answer. Eventually, the frustrated boys had begun to tease her, in such a way as to make her properly aware of her lack of age, height or strength in comparison to them. She had ended up running to her mother, thoroughly humiliated. They had known just which buttons to push to make her feel helpless, and worthless. Just like he had.  
  
Tears welled behind Hermione's closed eyelids, but she refused to let them go any further. Crying over the acts of that man was the way of a child.  
  
No, she would simply find a way for him to never do that again.  
  
***  
  
Snape strolled slowly back to his rooms, feeling strangely satisfied. It had never been his intention to hurt Miss Granger, but he had to admit that he was gratified by her childish anger. It was not often he was able to prompt such a strong response from someone usually so adult, so quiet.  
  
Snape did not consider himself a bully. He knew that taking pleasure in others' humiliation was perhaps the act of one, but his intention had never been to humiliate the girl. At least, not much. He had wanted more to irritate her, just as she irritated him by her indignation and lenience. Five points and a smile was not even a subtle reprimand, and was no deterrent to those two students. Roaming at night, even within the well- protected halls of Hogwarts, was simply not safe, especially now. It angered him that the girl he whose name had been used in the staffroom for seven years as an epitome of intelligence and maturity should have no awareness of the dangers of these times. But perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him- she had been, after all, involved in almost every scrap that Potter and Weasley had been in during their years at Hogwarts, escapades which had endangered theirs and others lives. It shouldn't be surprising that the child was still soft-hearted.  
  
She was no longer a child, however, as she had pointed out. It was annoying how these things changed. He would have brought up the issue of employing ex-students with Albus but the old wizard would surely have given him one of those Looks, and Snape always got a headache from those Looks. Besides, the headmaster would bring up the all-too apt point that most of the teachers were ex-students anyway, and ignore Snape's point entirely, and if Snape tried to explain at all Dumbledore would give him another type of look which would say plainer than words that he knew Snape disliked change, and that change was what the world was all about, and that Snape would just have to get used to it as part of his, Dumbledore's, Let's-Get- Severus-Out-Of-His-Shell exercise.  
  
No, Hermione Granger was now a grown woman. The problem was, for a grown woman, she certainly acted like a child. The thoughts of a child- yes! She still jumped to conclusions, still obeyed that stupid, unswerving loyalty. Just like the night she had raised her wand to him in defence of Sirius Black. He had to admit now that, perhaps, she had prevented him from injuring an innocent man, but she had had no call to do so. And Black had got away. Perhaps the man hadn't killed Potter's parents; Snape didn't really care. Snape knew what Black was, and that was a certain type of creature that would always be dangerous to his fellow man, perhaps because of his own Gryffindor stupidity. Just like Granger.  
  
Snape eased himself to lay back on his bed. well, perhaps he had taught the Granger girl a lesson tonight. He hoped so. Not just for his own pleasure, the pleasure of being avenged for her impudence. No. The girl had too much heart. She had to learn to ignore it, or she wouldn't survive too well in these times.  
  
Snape sighed, and with a word dispelled the lights floating around the room. With open eyes he tried to get some sleep.  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Hermione decided not to have breakfast with Ailie, as she occasionally did. She wanted to have breakfast with Ailie. It would be a pleasant start to the day. But she decided against it, simply because she wanted to so much. It would mean that she was avoiding Severus Snape, and that was a move of which she didn't want to make a habit.  
  
With squared shoulders, she entered the hall, nearly groaned when she saw that her seat would be directly opposite Snape's, and calmly walked over to sit. She smiled at her companions, accepted the tea-pot and began her meal as best she could. It was difficult, considering her appetite had fled as soon as she had seen Snape. She felt almost as she had done whilst in school, waiting for Snape to punish her for something she had done. Anxiously, Hermione looked up, expecting to see him glaring at her as he had done last night. He wasn't. He was performing his usual breakfast motions, sipping at his tea and ignoring his food. He wasn't even aware she was there.  
  
Hermione cursed herself for her foolishness. Of course he hadn't noticed. To him, last night had been yet another punishment of a recalcitrant student. It wouldn't even have been an extreme punishment. He probably didn't even remember what he had done.  
  
A blush crept over Hermione's cheeks, and she bit the inside of her cheek. Damn him! How could his behaviour of last night still affect her this morning? Even now, he was making her aware of just how childish and unimportant she was.  
  
As she helped organise the children to be transported to the train, Hermione found herself dwelling on the incident. The Slytherins were at their worst, not listening to anything she said, trying to play last tricks and last insults on their fellow students. By lunchtime, Hermione felt drained, and ever more angry at Snape and his favouritism.  
  
Stomping her way to her rooms, Hermione couldn't get past the unfairness of it all. Severus Snape had always favoured his house. In every aspect of school life Slytherins acted as though they had the right to rule over everyone else, and all because of that man. Because of his attitude to his precious Slytherins, everyone else had to suffer, had to be wary of those wearing silver and green simply because they would do anything they wished. Draco Malfoy was a case in point- by the time he had hit fifteen, no girl would risk being alone with him, especially not the little ones. Luckily, the boy had grown up a little before they graduated, otherwise Ron would have beaten seven kinds of hell out of him on graduation day.  
  
'Aargh!' Hermione let out an unladylike snort, and tossed some floo powder into the fireplace, calling Ailie's name. After a second, there was a knock on the door, and Hermione opened it to see her friend outside. She smiled.  
  
'You can come in through the fireplace, you know,' she said.  
  
Ailie shuddered. 'No, thank you. The last time was bad enough.' The trip through the floo system to her rooms that first time had been a rather traumatic experience for the Wiccan, and one she had no wish to repeat.  
  
'I was wondering if you would like to have lunch with me,' Hermione asked, leading the way to some arm-chairs.  
  
Ailie nodded. She and Hermione often shared meals; it was something to break up the tedium of being trapped in her rooms all day. Her seclusion was set to cease that evening, however, when her 'arrival' would be announced before dinner, and the two 'cousins' would have their reunion.  
  
The food was quickly set out on Hermione's table, sent there by a flick of Hermione's wand that never ceased to amaze Ailie. Hermione had never quite got over her revulsion of the enslavement of house-elves, but food preparation was the one area where she gave way.  
  
As she sipped at her chicken broth, Ailie noted how distracted her friend was. Hermione almost ignored her food, instead playing anxiously with her napkin. Not one to wait for an explanation, Ailie set down her spoon, and eyed her friend.  
  
'Okay. What's wrong?'  
  
'Um.' Hermione put down her napkin and looked her friend in the eye. 'Well, last night I had an idea about what to do about your problem with Professor Snape. Not the revenge problem,' she said quickly, seeing the eager look on Ailie's face. 'I thought perhaps there might be a way to control how much he gets to you. Maybe some sort of meditation.' Ailie nodded.  
  
'I've been considering that. I mean, usually what is required for absolute self-knowledge is quite a while in a trance, with others to help. But I've been so different lately... I didn't think I could achieve that.'  
  
Hermione's brow furrowed. 'Perhaps. Maybe what's blocking you at the moment is the fact that his blood is a wizard's blood- maybe it's confusing your skills. We'd have to talk to Professor Dumbledore-'  
  
Ailie cut her off. 'Is that really what's been bothering you? I had a feeling you were upset.'  
  
Hermione sighed. 'Sorry. I got a new idea.' She shrugged, and refocussed. 'When I was going to the library, I caught two students hiding behind a statue.'  
  
'Hiding?' Ailie was confused. Hermione blushed. She had never got over her sensitivity of such things.  
  
'You know, meeting... privately.'  
  
'Oh. They were having sex?'  
  
'No!' Hermione's blush became a flame on her skin. 'They were only third years!'  
  
The girl across from her shrugged. 'Where I come from, you begin to have sex when you feel you want to. There's no rule that tells you when you're ready.'  
  
Hermione shot her a serious look. 'They were kissing.'  
  
'Oh. So?'  
  
'Well, I've explained before that students aren't allowed out of the dormitories after curfew. Hogwarts can be a dangerous place at night. So I decided to scare them. I sneaked up on them and said 'boo.''  
  
''Boo'?'  
  
Hermione smiled. Sometimes the cultural gap between herself and her friend was surprising. 'Yes. It's a word that is used to startle someone. Usually said by ghosts, who sneak up to scare people.'  
  
'Okay.'  
  
'Well, I took five points each from them and was just abbot to send them on their way when Snape snuck up on me.'  
  
'Pah.'  
  
'Yes.' Hermione got up and began to pace the room, her anger returning. 'He's just so irritating! He wouldn't let me take the points from the children- he did it instead, and took twenty instead of five. Then he ordered me to go to bed!' Ailie raised an eyebrow, and Hermione ran her hands through her hair. 'Well, I tried to tell him that I was a teacher too, now, and that he couldn't do that, but he just ignored me! He followed me all the way to the library and stared at me while I worked- for two hours!' Ailie again raised her eyebrow. Interesting, that.  
  
Hermione walked over to the fireplace, and leant on the mantelpiece. 'I got hardly any work done, and he insisted on walking me to my rooms. So I played a trick on him, and then he called me a child, and took me to my room anyway, and this morning he acted as though nothing had happened!'  
  
With a frustrated noise, Hermione sat heavily on the couch, picking up a cushion to play with. 'I just wish he would treat me as a human being. He goes around favouring all of his horrid students, and then accuses me of favouritism! I just wish I could- could make him feel that way, somehow.'  
  
Ailie moved to sit beside her friend. 'This is why you need to help me get him back, Herm. That overstuffed ape need to be taught a lesson.'  
  
'But how?' Hermione turned hopeless eyes to Ailie. 'He's a very intelligent man, Ailie. He'd know if we were up to something, and he's able to detect all poisons- though we couldn't do that, of course-' A light dawned in Hermione's eyes. 'Wait! What would you say Snape hates most of all?'  
  
'Apart from me?' Ailie frowned. 'I don't know. I hardly know the man, Hermione.'  
  
'But you're linked. You must be able to tell something- you've been acting like him all week.'  
  
'Well...' Ailie considered. In the past week, she had definitely not been herself, and there was only one other person she could have been. She thought back on all the odd things she had done. 'He hates warmth, had doesn't like to talk, and he doesn't like sweets. I never get annoyed by people laughing, but I think he does. I think he just hates everything nice.'  
  
'Exactly.' Hermione smiled to herself. 'He hates everything that's good- everything that would make a normal person happy. In fact, he'd probably hate it if he was happy. It's brilliant!' Hermione caught the eye of her puzzled friend, and explained, 'we can't do anything to harm him, because that is wrong. I mean, we might want to, but we can't physically harm him. And we can't do anything to torture him, either, for the same reason. We're bound by law. But no-one can do anything to us if we do something to make him happy.'  
  
'I don't want to make him happy. He is a-' Ailie trailed off in Gaelic, and Hermione waited for her to finish.  
  
'But it won't make him happy, Ailie, don't you see?' Hermione got up and began to fish through her bookcase. 'Now... no, not that one. Which one did I see it in? I'd forgotten about that, but we wouldn't need to go that far...'  
  
Ailie waited patiently for her friend to come back. It was not the first time that Hermione had gone off into her own little world, while pursuing an idea, and Ailie knew it would be explained in time.  
  
'Here! Excellent.' Hermione flourished a red-bound book. It was quite thin, out-of-place in Hermione's collection of great tomes.  
  
'Molly Weasley gave me this one Christmas. My friend Ron's mum,' she explained briefly, as she sat down. 'Now...' Quickly, Hermione leafed through the book, pausing here and there to consider a spell. 'I think one of these will do.' She bookmarked the pages, and turned to Ailie.  
  
'If Snape hates things that usually make people happy, all we have to do to torture him is make him experience them. This book is full of comforting spells, spells that give you good dreams, potions to reveal your innermost desires, all that kind of stuff.' She smiled. 'Fairly useful for a teenage girl.'  
  
'So what will we do?'  
  
'Well, we will just choose a spell that will irritate him through pleasure. There's a potion here-' Hermione showed Ailie one of the bookmarked pages- 'that will make him feel generally happy all day, which I think will annoy him no end.'  
  
'What about the other page?'  
  
'That one's a little harsher. It's a dream potion. It would make him have a very lucid dream. It doesn't really explain the effects that well, so I thought the other potion would be a bit better.'  
  
Knowing her friend's soft heart, Ailie reached for the book. 'I'll just have a quick look at that one, if you don't mind.'  
  
Hermione waited patiently while her friend examined the spell, watching a slow smile creep across the girl's face.  
  
'Oh, yes. We must do this one, Herm. The other one just isn't enough.'  
  
Hermione shook her head. 'I can't do that. It's too much- we'll get in trouble.'  
  
Ailie gave her an assessing look, rather like that which Snape had been giving her the night before. It made Hermione shiver. 'Hermione, you have to get over this concept that you are a defenceless little schoolgirl here. You are a grown woman, and a teacher in this school. If you want to play a trick on Snape, I'm sure no one will think the worse of you for it.'  
  
'Ailie,' Hermione began. Her friend's voice had been to much like Snape's, and had had the effect of a slap in the face. 'It is precisely because I am a teacher here that I can't allow this. I'm supposed to be behaving like a responsible adult. I can't believe I even considered this.' She got up and paced the room. 'I'm doing exactly what Snape accused me of.'  
  
Ailie watched her friend pace, and sighed. She had been so close to a good plan. Perhaps she still was. Wisely, the Wiccan decided to let the subject lie- for now.  
  
***  
  
The feeling of reserve that had sprung up between the two girls quickly faded as Ailie made her appearance in Hogwarts for the first official time. Hermione introduced her to the rest of the staff before dinner, acting like a delighted cousin, and soon the part took over. She found it difficult to stay angry at Ailie for long.  
  
Dinner went well, especially because Snape was absent from it. Hermione was delighted with Ailie's reception, and her earliest fears that playing her cousin would put a strain on their friendship were shown to be unfounded, as the other girl showed every appearance of being able to take care of herself.  
  
As the dinner ended, Hermione decided that it would be a good time to continue researching ways to help Ailie. The other girl seemed able to take care of herself, although at times she was all too silent for Hermione's liking. The sooner they found a way to control these Snapish moods, the better.  
  
As she walked down the moonlit corridor, Hermione smiled. It would soon be Christmas, and she had a promise from Harry that he would visit with her. She would have to visit her parents, of course, but that could be done by floo. In fact, considering the fact that Ailie would be here also, it wouldn't be a bad idea for them to come to her for once- they could even have a real Christmas dinner in her rooms...  
  
These pleasant thoughts were interrupted by an annoyed cough. Hermione looked up to see Snape, not a metre away from her. Well, it served him right to feel ignored, for once.  
  
She made to move on, but Snape stopped her with a hand on her arm.  
  
'Miss Granger, I believe we discussed last night that the two students caught in the corridors would be punished according to my guidelines?'  
  
You can believe whatever you like, Hermione thought stubbornly, but merely put on a look of polite concern. 'Yes?'  
  
'I will take that as an agreement. Why, then, may I ask were the two students' houses awarded an unaccounted for fifteen points, each, this morning?'  
  
Hermione considered a moment. He has no power over me, I can do anything I wish, without his permission. 'I believe the two students may have done something to deserve those points, Professor.'  
  
'You believe,' Snape sneered. 'You believe wrongly. In fact, I would go so far as to say that you just lied. I would say that those students were awarded points for nothing at all.'  
  
'What an interesting theory. Now, if you will excuse me-'  
  
Snape's hold on her arm tightened. 'No, I don't believe I will, Miss Granger. Why did you disobey my orders?'  
  
'You can't give me orders,' Hermione whispered, a part of her terrified at her own daring.  
  
'What?'  
  
Hermione summoned up the anger of the night before. He can't do this to you, Hermione. You're not his student, not any more. 'I said you can't give me orders, Professor Snape. Did your hearing fail you?'  
  
Snape sneered. 'No. Perhaps I was expecting too much that a mere child would be able to recognise when one of her superiors was attempting to educate her on proper punishment for recalcitrant pupils.'  
  
'Superiors?' Hermione snorted, then bit her lip when Snape's hold tightened even more. 'I was on my way to the library, Professor Snape, if you would be so kind as to let me go.'  
  
Without a word, Snape released her, so quickly that he almost pushed her over. Hermione continued on her way with as much speed as she could manage without running.  
  
Only when she neared the haven of the library did she realise that Snape was following her again. Irritated, she turned to face him.  
  
'I have no need of your protection, Professor. You may go.'  
  
'Now who is giving the orders?' One ebony eyebrow raised mockingly.  
  
'I wasn't giving you an order,' Hermione sighed with frustration. 'I merely want to be able to study in peace, without you looming over me like an overgrown bat!' At this, Hermione thought she saw a spark of amusement deep within his black eyes. It was gone too quickly to tell.  
  
'This is a school, Miss Granger, in which we are both members of staff. It is not just you who might wish to make use of the library.'  
  
Hermione might have blushed, had she not known that his words were a ruse. He had been heading in the opposite direction when they had come across each other.  
  
She turned and entered the library, determined to ignore him, a plan which worked for ten seconds or so. Though they sat at different tables, Hermione felt Snape's presence as though he was sitting in front of her. Every time she looked up, that basilisk stare confronted hers.  
  
'Snape, if you have nothing to do, you may leave. Or you could help me with my research.' Irritated beyond reason, Hermione was past fear. Having a screaming match with the man would be better than this quiet torture.  
  
'My name is Professor Snape, Miss Granger, and I can assure you I have no interest in whatever you are doing.' Snape leant back on his chair, looking down the strong line of his nose at her.  
  
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. She had graduated a year and a half ago, and the man still wanted her to call him professor. Even the headmaster had insisted that she call him Albus, though she had yet to do so, feeling uncomfortable at the prospect. But it was a sign of mutual respect, one that Snape was obviously too petty to offer.  
  
'Of course you don't have an interest. You don't have an interest in anything. No, of course you wouldn't care that I'm currently researching some way for you and Ailie to get out of this mess you put her in.'  
  
'I put that girl nowhere, Miss Granger, aside from in a safe place. And I can assure you, child, I would be able to find a cure for this 'mess', as you call it, without your... inestimable faculties.' Snape put such an emphasis on the word 'inestimable' as to make it an euphemism.  
  
It was too much. 'My name is Hermione Granger. Not 'Miss Granger', not even just 'child'. My name is Hermione.' Hermione glared at Snape, angered further by his lack of reaction. That he could be so utterly bloodless was the most frustrating aspect of all- he batted her down with a cruel word, yet didn't seem to care about the reaction he elicited. At least a real villain cared enough to want to wound their victim- Snape didn't seem to even notice.  
  
Hermione decided it was time to see how far his uncaring attitude would go. 'I am a member of staff in this school, and therefore apt to call you whatever I want, Snape! No detentions for me if I call you a heartless old hermit, or tell you to shove your perfect potions advice where the sun doesn't shine. When will you get that into your thick skull!' Hermione stood, putting her hands on her hips.  
  
'I just can't believe your arrogance. Perhaps maybe I should, after seven years of it, but somehow I thought that perhaps, maybe, behind that exterior of disdain, bias and sheer bloody-mindedness you would turn out to be half as intelligent as I thought you would be!'  
  
'Intelligence?' Snape looked her up and down with that darkly assessing gaze of his, and sneered. 'Had I but known your utter lack of it then your position at this school might never have occurred. That a girl so reputedly astute could discover two students in the middle of the night-'  
  
'Oh, get over it.' Hermione walked around the table, advancing on the shadowy figure in front of her. 'Believe it or not, Snape, your ideas for punishments are more apt to cause students to break the rules, rather than follow them, just to spite you. You have absolutely no idea of how the students of this school think. When I think of all the times Harry and Ron and I did something, just for the knowledge that you would hate it... All students react that way to you. I don't believe you care.' Hermione ran her hands through her hair, and glared at him. 'You glory in not caring about anything, pushing buttons for the fun of it. You play with the lives of children, Snape. Your absurd favouritism of your sappy little Slytherins has led to that house producing the most malignant, pathetic and inhuman graduates around today, and yet you accuse me of favouritism! Hah!' Her laugh was without humour. Snape was now glaring at her, but Hermione could not stop the flow of thoughts she had kept safely guarded for seven long years.  
  
She sat on the table nearest Snape, and looked into his eyes. 'Your hypocrisy is astounding, and you don't seem to care who notices it. Or could it be that you don't even notice what a hypocrite you are?'  
  
Snape rose before her, and Hermione almost gasped. A look was on his face that Hermione had never seen before, not even when she had tied him up in her third year.  
  
Dark eyes looked down at her, fathomless. 'Hypocrite?' Snape smiled evilly. 'You wish to talk about double-standards, Miss Granger? Your idiotic Gryffindor loyalty has long prevented you from seeing how truly incompetent many of your house are. That you would hang about with Potter and Weasley, letting them steal from your essays, letting them cheat from your papers, and you criticise me for producing pathetic human specimens? You practically gave birth to their incompetence. Why, compared to the likes of Longbottom, with whom you spent almost your entire potions career, the graduates of Slytherin House-'  
  
Hermione stood, facing him down. She felt as though she had been slapped. 'Don't you dare insult my friends! Compared to the students in your house, they're damned near saints! And don't you dare use the behaviour of others to excuse that of those you trained. The Slytherins in my year were the most disgusting, insulting, twisted people I've ever met.' She gave Snape a look of disgust. 'Behaviour. Harry and Ron may have cheated off my work once in a while, but in Slytherin, that was accepted form! Draco Malfoy barely managed to scrape up some dregs of human feeling by the time he left, despite the monster you wanted him to be. And Crabbe and Goyle were damned near rapists!'  
  
Snape shot her a look filled with pure hate, but Hermione withstood it. 'Your pathetic little Gryffindor defence is useless against me, Miss Granger. Be assured, though I have done things I regret in the past, not one occurred after the time you were five.'  
  
'Well, that just shows how truly sad your case is, doesn't it,' said Hermione, slowly coming down from her fountain of anger.  
  
Snape, sensing that her tone held pity, sneered once more. 'Soft- hearted infant.'  
  
'I am not an infant, Snape, and I will not tolerate being treated like one. You may have been able to play out your sick little torture games on me when I was in your classes, but it will happen no more. I am no longer under your control. And I am no child.'  
  
Snape let his gaze wander over her, making Hermione feel ill at ease. When he looked back at her, his eyes showed distaste.  
  
'No, you're not.' His tone clearly implied that, grown woman or child, there was nothing in front of him to interest him.  
  
Hermione swallowed, aware that she was in deep water. 'Good night, Snape.' She turned with as much dignity as she could muster, before she gave in to the urge to slap him.  
  
On her way to the door, she realised belatedly that they had had an audience. In fact, many of the staff stood crowded around the open library door, Dumbledore among them. Her cheeks flamed, but she carried on throughout the door.  
  
None of the other professors said a word, but as she passed McGonagall, the older woman slipped her arm through Hermione's, and began to walk beside her.  
  
'I've been wanting to tell him off like that for years,' the old witch said, a smile in her voice. 'Sappy little Slytherins, indeed. I would have said far worse, and still been on the mark.'  
  
Hermione looked down as they continued walking, The enormity of what she had just done was beginning to sink in. 'Oh, my God.'  
  
McGonagall patted her arm. 'I wouldn't worry about it too much, Hermione. Severus Snape is an irritable old bat, and gets told off for it far less often than he needs to. He probably enjoyed it.'  
  
Hermione looked at her old transfiguration professor, and seriously doubted her words. The only thing Snape would enjoy where she was concerned would be her departure from the school in disgrace, she was sure. 


	7. Some slightly interesting developments

Disclaimer: I hereby disclaim, dissuade, dissent, decry, debug, demystify, debrief and disillusion the general public as to my right to use these characters: I have none. Yup, that's right, J.K. invented them and here I am, using them for my own twisted pleasure, without having paid billions of dollars to either the author herself, or Warner Bros. And you know what? I'm not about to give them any money either, because I hereby do all of the aforementioned things in relation to the ludicrous state of the world's copyright acts. I think, as long as one is careful to acknowledge the author, and fails to make any profit from the use of copyrighted material (and really, is anyone seriously going to suggest that fanfiction authors are making money? I think not, apart from that guy in Japan who wrote the next HP book and sold millions of copies, but let's just ignore him).  
  
So, W.B, J.K, don't sue me. I don't have any money anyway, and I doubt you'd find any joy in wrenching my poor belongings from me in lieu of payment.  
  
  
  
Author's note: Sorry I've been so lax in updating, which is a trait I despise myself. I'm in the middle of writing a novel, and, as it could possibly get me some much-needed dosh, I've been anxious to spend as much time on it as possible. Sorry. You'll be glad to note that both the novel and this story are the same length at the moment- 50,000 words. So I am putting in as much effort on this.  
  
  
  
Chapter Seven Ailie looked up as Hermione's head appeared through the fireplace. She shivered. Somehow, she still couldn't get used to floo travel.  
  
'Have you got a spare minute?' Hermione asked.  
  
Ailie put aside the book she had been reading and looked at her friend, who was emerging from the fireplace. She was startled to note the ashen complexion of her companion. Ailie frowned. 'So, what's up?'  
  
'I've decided we should give Professor Snape the potion,' Hermione said, looking nervous.  
  
Ailie smiled.  
  
***  
  
Snape stalked into the dining hall, twenty minutes late for lunch, and was not at all gratified to see the entirety of the staff waiting for him. Well, almost the entirety- Granger was the one exception, but Snape was reluctant in his current mood to include her in his concept of 'staff.' In fact, if he could have his wish, he would disclude her from the category of 'at Hogwarts' as well.  
  
Sighing inwardly, Snape proceeded to his seat and sat down, ignoring the interested looks from the rest of the staff. He had known this would happen. It would be too much to expect that the gossip-starved harpies of Hogwarts would behave like the adults they were supposed to be, and mind their own gods-damned business.  
  
After all, it had only been a good twenty hours since they had stood, gawping, as the Granger girl had vented her childish spleen at him in a most undignified fashion. Snape almost groaned. What a mess. It was bad enough that the infant had decided to yell at him in the upper reaches of her voice, attracting the attention of the entire castle, but he had retaliated. Ugh. You should have known better, Severus, he berated himself. Not that the girl hadn't deserved far more of a lashing than he had had a chance to give- but he should have remained under his own control. The child was not important enough to provoke his anger.  
  
And now he had to put up with the stares of the people who had witnessed it. How much of the conversation they had viewed, he did not know. He had only noticed them as the girl had fled out the door- well, if he had to be honest, she had rather composedly walked out the door, which was not something he was used to experiencing after yelling at children. Unsettling, really, how the girl had managed to be so composed, so completely unafraid as she had exited the room. Perhaps it was yet more evidence of her lack of sense- a smart wizard would know to be afraid of Severus Snape's anger after such an outburst.  
  
Assuming a facade of complete composure, Snape glanced up from his meal. The entire staff was still staring at him. He attempted his patented glare, but couldn't put his heart into it. For some reason, after seeing him put down by a mere child, the rest of the teaching staff seemed to view him as more of a specimen than a threat. His glares wouldn't work, nor even a good sneer. He knew. He had tried both as he had swept past them out of the library yesterday, and they had had as little effect as they did now.  
  
It was partly his own fault for losing his control with the girl in the first place. While he despised the curiosity of his infantile associates, he was forced to admit that the situation would never have presented itself if he had not yelled at her, an uncharacteristic loss of composure for him. He didn't yell. He threatened. When he was really angry, he whispered. Never a yell.  
  
He blamed it on the effects of that dratted Wiccan girl he had rescued. He had been entirely out of sorts since he had rescued the ungrateful wench. Apparently, the transference of emotional habits was unavoidable, part of the whole insane process. Normally one to appreciate the variations on the magical arts, Snape had of late decided he despised the whole of Wiccan practice.  
  
Control. He had to find some way to regain control over himself.  
  
Not that he would lose control again with her. It had simply been the unfairness of Hermione's accusations. Of course he knew she was no longer a student. He had seen her in her classes, taking control easily, slipping into the role of a teacher as though she had been doing it for years. Despite her assertion, he had noticed that she was now in the staff room, and not in the dormitory. He occasionally sat next to her at dinner, for Merlin's sake. He wasn't blind.  
  
No, of course he wasn't blind. He was a fully-grown male, and could not have missed the fact that for the first time in approximately fifteen years, Dumbledore had hired someone under forty. It wasn't that Granger was attractive, particularly, but a man who had lived in the wasteland of the Hogwarts staff room for the last few years would have to be dead not to notice that there was a... well, if he was honest with himself, he could almost say 'pretty' young girl. On a good day. Shapely, maybe. If he was to be particularly kind, pleasant-looking, not the sort of figure that one would cringe at, mostly. If he was very kind. Oh, who was he kidding- the girl was attractive, and her presence by the fire in the staff room could hardly be missed, especially when grandfatherly letches like Flitwick and Watson constantly practiced their octogenarian chivalry on the wench. There, he had said it. But that had nothing to do with his loss of control. Not a thing.  
  
Ye gods. Here was Flitwick now, rising with a frown of concern and walking around the table, no doubt to take him to task for yelling at one of the old wizard's favourite ex-students. And there was Minerva, raising an eyebrow at him and being no help at all. So much for scholarly solidarity. Friends with the woman for years and she deserts at the first sign of trouble- well, actually, the tally for the Head of Gryffindor's stern talks with him was averaging three a week. But still.  
  
Merlin take this. Snape set down his knife and fork with a clang and rose, ignoring the raised eyebrows around the table at his not even having touched lunch. Not even favouring them with a glare, he turned and swept from the room, seeking the safety and silence of his rooms.  
  
***  
  
'So I called him a heartless old hermit, and he said that I'd made Harry and Ron into idiots- which they are not- and he called me an infant!' Hermione drew a couple of deep breaths, the anger of the previous evening still strong in her mind. 'An infant, can you believe it? That man is so infuriating! I just want to-' With a grunt of frustration, Hermione wrung her hands together in an eloquent gesture, making her companion smile.  
  
'So you want to get him back, do you?' Ailie asked, in glad tones. 'Now you know how I feel.'  
  
'Hah!' muttered Hermione, her eyes still focused on an inward picture. 'Seven years with that... monster! And he calls me an infant! Ugh!'  
  
'Yes, so we're making the potion, right?'  
  
'Yes!' Hermione glared into the fire, her fists clenched. 'See how he likes feeling helpless.'  
  
Ailie grinned to herself. She had a feeling she knew exactly how Snape would like feeling helpless. After all, she had known exactly what he had been feeling for the last three weeks, every moment.  
  
'That... rat!' Hermione fumed. 'I can't even think of a word for him. Do you know he called me a-'  
  
'Well, you did tell him to shove his potions advice where the sun doesn't shine,' Ailie said, then slapped her hand over her mouth. It was disturbing to report information that wasn't in her head a second ago.  
  
Hermione frowned. 'How did you know that?'  
  
Ailie shrugged, her eyes downcast. 'I know everything about Snape. Do you think that this whole 'soul bonding' thing is all fun? Everything the man feels gets transferred to me, if it's strong enough.' At that thought, Ailie grinned. Not everything about the situation was a burden. It was quite handy to figure out the man's thoughts on certain topics while he was still denying them to himself. Quite handy indeed. 'I have to find some way to show him who's boss. Now do you see why we need to prepare that potion straight away?'  
  
Still distracted by her anger at Snape, Hermione nodded absently. 'We can start it as soon as I get the ingredients.'  
  
'Good. When?'  
  
Ailie noted with distress her companion's frown. 'Oh, a week or so. I have to find a time when Snape isn't in his rooms, so I can steal a few things without his noticing. The only time that is certain to happen is the Head of House meeting at the end of the week.'  
  
Ailie shook her head. 'No. Too far away. We need to do it soon.'  
  
'How?' Hermione asked. 'I can't just walk in and take ingredients. He's sure to suspect something.'  
  
'What about that invisible thing you can do? Just walk in there.'  
  
Hermione shook her head, a nervous look in her eyes. 'Do you think he won't notice when cupboards just start opening by themselves? Anyway, he seems to know when I'm being invisible. I don't know how,' she concluded in a puzzled tone.  
  
Ailie smirked. She had a feeling she knew exactly how- or why- Snape could detect when Hermione was around him, even invisible. She giggled. This was definitely a situation she could manipulate.  
  
'What?' Hermione looked at her friend curiously.  
  
'Nothing,' Ailie replied, composing herself. 'I was just wondering if you've found out any way for me to have better control over this... thing with Snape.'  
  
'Maybe.' Hermione rose. 'I have some books on meditation techniques that might be helpful. I'll just go get them- they're in my room.' With a quick movement, Hermione grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the box on the mantelpiece and jumped into the fire. Ailie cringed. It was something she would have to get used to, obviously.  
  
In a moment, Hermione was back, several books in hand. Ailie took them from her, distracted. A plan was forming in her mind on how keep Snape out of his rooms.  
  
'Have you got a list of all the ingredients we need for the potion?' she asked. Hermione nodded, a puzzled look on her face. 'Good,' Ailie continued. 'Then I say let's start right away.'  
  
'But what are we going to do?' Hermione asked, looking up the list of ingredients in the potions book.  
  
'You are going to raid the old bat's cupboards. I am going to fight with him.' Ailie smiled at Hermione's startled look. 'Don't worry. We'll take it outside. I have a feeling,' she added, 'that very soon Snape is going to want to take a walk.'  
  
***  
  
Snape ceased his pacing of his study. This was ridiculous. He wasn't getting any work done this way, and his carpet was getting worn.  
  
A sudden urge for the open air struck him. The harsh winter landscape outside would be just the thing to suit his mood, and once this restlessness was walked off, he would be able to sit and concentrate.  
  
Grabbing his cloak, he headed for the door.  
  
Once outside the castle, Snape obeyed a sudden inclination to head west, toward the Quiddich pitches. It wasn't often he went this way. In fact, it wasn't often he walked at all, preferring the solitude of the dungeons.  
  
He was startled when he rounded a stand on the pitch to see a figure facing the other way. As he walked forward, it turned. For some reason, he wasn't at all surprised to see that it was the Wiccan girl, standing as if she had been waiting for him.  
  
No, he wasn't surprised at all.  
  
'What,' he said silkily as he walked toward her, 'exactly is it that you've called me out here for?'  
  
He was pleased to note the surprise that sparked in the girl's eyes. He raised an eyebrow when she didn't reply.  
  
'You didn't think I wouldn't be suspicious of sudden inclinations to catch some fresh air, did you?' he asked.  
  
With displeasure he saw the girl's smirk. 'You weren't suspicious at all,' she said. 'You only figured it out when you saw me.'  
  
*Damn! * he said inwardly. Irritated, he waved his hand.  
  
'Regardless,' he said. 'You have called me out here for something. Kindly get it over with so I can return to the castle, instead of standing out here in the cold.'  
  
This time it was the girl's turn to be irritated. 'I owe you something, Snape.'  
  
'Oh yes?' Snape smiled evilly.  
  
'Yes. And you can be sure I will pay you back for what you've done to me.' From her tone, Snape guessed that she wasn't talking about being indebted to him for her life.  
  
'You impudent girl. Do not think you can threaten me.' Arms crossed, Snape stalked forward and loomed over the young girl. 'You childish anger only amuses me. But should it proceed to the point that it is no longer funny do not for a moment think that I would not snap you like a twig.' Again, a disconcerting flash of amusement appeared in the girl's eyes.  
  
'Arguing with you is too easy,' she said, and Snape frowned in puzzlement. She smiled at him. 'I know exactly what sort of comeback you're likely to give. I'm in your head, Snape. Remember?'  
  
Snape glared at her. An unfamiliar look came across the girl's face, and a sudden instinct made him reach for his wand.  
  
Unfortunately, he was too late.  
  
'*Accio* wand!' Ailie's hand shot out and Snape's wand flew into it.  
  
'*Expelliarmus!'* Snape said, and the wand was dashed from her hand. 'Accio!' In an instant, the wand was back in his own hand.  
  
'*Accio!*' The wand flew back into Ailie's hand, much to Snape's surprise. His wand shouldn't have done that- only a wand owned by the girl herself should have obeyed in that way.  
  
Ailie smiled cruelly. '*Emasclio.*' Snape blanched, but saw a flicker of surprise dawn on Ailie's face. He breathed a sigh of relief. That curse was a particularly cruel one.  
  
'*Accio.*' With outstretched hand, Snape regained his wand. 'You see, Ailie, this wand has a block placed on it. It cannot harm its owner.' Snape silently thanked Dumbledore's precaution, one set in place when Snape had been experiencing less than happy days. He saw Ailie open her mouth and grinned. '*Silencio!*'  
  
'You ignorant bat!' Ailie yelled. 'How dare you-' She stopped in surprise. The last time she had heard that spell, her vocal cords had been incapacitated.  
  
Snape looked down at his wand. What was wrong with it? It was true that he didn't often use it, but wands simply didn't break down.  
  
Snape looked at Ailie, seeing the confusion he was feeling mirrored in her eyes. Baffled and angry, he turned on his heel and headed back toward the castle.  
  
He was definitely not in the mood for this.  
  
***  
  
The door opened with a click. Hermione put her wand back into her pocket and cautiously peeked around the door, ready to duck back if Snape was still within. Not that there was any need- as an extra precaution, she had made herself invisible again.  
  
The coast was clear. Quickly, Hermione walked over to the stores cabinet and opened it, securing the ingredients swiftly. Luckily, Snape was a creature of habit, and her years of schooling had given her a familiarity with the order of his stores cupboards.  
  
Her job done, Hermione hoisted her bag on her shoulder and made to leave. Walking past Snape's desk, she paused. She had never really had a chance to look around in here. Either she had been on a clandestine trip such as this one, or she had been sent to fetch an ingredient while Snape waited, and hadn't dared to take too much time.  
  
But what was stopping her now? Knowing Ailie, she would argue with Snape for at least a half hour. At the very least, she had ten minutes, the time it would take for Snape to get outside, turn around, and come back. Plenty of time to satisfy her curiosity.  
  
Tremulously, she approached his desk, promising herself that she would just look. After all, Snape would probably notice if anything was moved, and that would defeat the whole purpose of the trip.  
  
Carefully, Hermione looked over the items scattered on the desk. Open, but shoved to the side, was a book on moonlit potions. With a wistful smile, Hermione ran a finger down a page. She missed potions-making. As horrible as the style of teaching had been, Hermione had been able to appreciate the 'art' in potions making, that element that Snape, so careful to inform them of in his opening speech, had prevented most of his students from seeing. He had been too concerned with his own petty favouritisms.  
  
A frown crossed Hermione's face, and she turned away from the beguiling book. She felt, sometimes, that she understood Snape. It would be frustrating to know a subject so well, to love it, and to face incompetence at every turn when trying to promote it to others. She knew that feeling all too well. The difference, however, was that when she had been trying to teach Neville how to correctly prepare mugwort over and over again, and when she had had to repeatedly explain to Ron how arithmancy worked, her frustrations at their slowness had remained bottled up. She had attempted to understand why they were so slow.  
  
Laziness. She was beginning to realise that all that made Snape push his students so hard was laziness, and nastiness of temper. When she had been at school she had looked up to him, in some ways. As fascinated with all things magical as she was, he had seemed like a god in his extensive knowledge of potions. Every question, it seemed, met with an answer in him.  
  
Yet now that she was slowly distancing herself from the fantastical world of her childhood, Hermione was beginning to see that a knowledge of potions did not a master of everything make. While Snape might have been an expert on potions-making, he was lacking in all areas of human feeling. Why, the only person Hermione had ever seen him be more than civil with was Dumbledore, although sometimes not even then. He seemed to hate the world, apart from his precious Slytherins and their pureblood fathers.  
  
Snape's failure to even try to be a decent human being was what got to Hermione. It would take so little for him to be nice- if just once he had encouraged her in any way during potions class- if he had just answered her questions politely-  
  
A sound in the corridor made Hermione jump, and she tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear against it. A muffled hiss sounded in the corridor beyond, and Hermione breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It was only Mrs Norris, chasing something down the passageway. The noise, however, had reminded her of her mission, and, after waiting a few minutes for Mrs Norris to move on, Hermione opened the door.  
  
Swiftly she walked along the hall toward the stairs, the sound of her shoes magically muffled. Just as she reached the stairway, however, she noted another noise. This time it couldn't be mistaken- someone was walking down the stairs to the dungeons, and at this time of year it was only likely to be one person.  
  
Quickly, Hermione ducked back into the corridor. Her experiences with Snape had taught her to be cautious even when invisible. It would do no good just to stand still- she must find somewhere out of his way.  
  
Unfortunately, the only places were the doorways to his office and his classroom. She could probably pass unnoticed if she stood quietly in one of them- but the question was, which room was he heading for? It was likely that he would be going to his office during the holidays- but what if he had something he needed to do in the classroom?  
  
Needing to make a decision, Hermione quickly pressed herself into the classroom's doorway. It was the least likely of the two.  
  
She watched nervously as Snape stalked toward her. By the look on his face, whatever Ailie had found to argue with him about had disturbed him. It was slightly unexpected- puzzlement, concern and a touch of sadness crossed the older man's features, where Hermione was used to, and would have expected, anger. It made him look almost human.  
  
It occured to Hermione that it wasn't often a person could observe Snape like this. In all her childhood years, she had faced him in fear, in anger or in trepidation. Such feelings didn't really give a girl time to ponder on the man. Now, walking slowly as he was, obviously lost in his own thoughts, Hermione was free to take in his appearance with more ease than before.  
  
Though they had always referred to him as a 'greasy-haired git,' Hermione had never really thought Snape at all unkempt, just a little messy. She could see as he approached that his long black hair, which had been shoulder-length for as long as she had known him, was tousled, probably from running his hands through it at odd times like she had seen him do when he was concentrating on a particularly difficult potion. It hang lankly over his downturned face, shadowing it, and giving Hermione the urge to push it back for him. She had never been able to stand untidy hair in her face, and the mere sight of it on someone else irritated her no end- it had taken her all her years of school to train Ron to keep his out of his face.  
  
Snape's shadowed features looked old in the dim light of the hall. No, perhaps not old, just weary. Hermione remembered looking at him occasionally in Potions after she, Ron and Harry had found out he was a spy for Dumbledore, and noticing a flicker of that weariness. In later years as he became more and more guarded she had supposed it a fancy of her imagination, and forgotten to look for it. His pale skin was highlighted by the darkness around him, and for the first time Hermione wondered if the man ever allowed himself some sunlight.  
  
His brow furrowed, drawing two fine black eyebrows together in a graceful curve. Hermione was used to seeing one of those brows raised in contempt, used to seeing his frown only from anger. His expression now, however, somehow seemed quite sad. His dark eyes were downcast, two unfathomable black pools.  
  
Snape reached his study door and pulled out a key. Hermione had often wondered at that- an unmagically locked door was so much easier to break into than one supplemented with magical wards. She had supposed it was his aversion to 'foolish wand waving.'  
  
With a swiftness that startled her, Snape swept around and looked directly at where she was standing. Her heart beat in her throat. She should have known he would notice her- he always seemed to know that she was there even though she was invisible.  
  
It took a few seconds for the realisation to sink in that he wasn't staring at her, but through her, unnoticing. He was considering the door behind her. Hermione breathed out silently.  
  
In the rush of relief, Hermione realised that Snape's eyes and hers were directly level. She had never realised before that she and Snape were almost the same height, allowing for her heeled boots. His eyes were not as completely black as they appeared from a distance, though she had long suspected as much. They were like the bitterest of chocolate, the darkest brown she had ever seen. Surprisingly, there were no crows' feet around his eyes, no marks to show the worry and strain he had been through in his years. In fact, Hermione thought whimsically, if he didn't frown so often, Snape might have looked a lot younger than he was.  
  
The object of her gaze leant forward slightly, and Hermione was reminded that he still might decide to enter the classroom. She pressed herself as far back as she could in the doorway, hoping by force of will to disappear into the wood. Snape appeared to come to a decision, however, and turned back to his own door.  
  
His profile was turned to Hermione as he inserted the key in the door and turned it. For a moment he paused, his hand on the door handle, and once more Hermione was disturbed by the sadness shown on his face. The moment was dashed aside, however, as Snape sneered nastily, the movement transforming his face into its usual evil mask. Noting the quick change, Hermione shook herself. It would be dangerous to forget just how nasty Snape could make himself be, when he wanted to.  
  
Snape opened the door, shaking his head to himself while walking inside. Hermione caught the word 'never,' as the door closed of its own accord behind him and breathed out quietly.  
  
Time to get revenge for seven very long years. 


	8. Worries and arguments

Disclaimer: Yes, after all these chapters of denial, I am going to now claim the world-famous 'Harry Potter' characters as my own. Yes, yes, I know I've been saying that they belong to JK Rowling, who has, of course been publishing these characters for the last few years, and I know that I was only about ten when the author claimed to come up with them, but they're mine. So was the theory of relativity (a good one, even if I do say so myself), War and Peace, the method of slicing bread, and all of the Naked Chef's recipes. Oh, and Warner Bros have never heard of sarcasm.  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The girls- or rather, Ailie- decided that in such a case of revenge, the sooner was the better. Once it began to brew, the potion would only need a night's rest before it was ready to be served to its victim. That would bring them to two days before Christmas Eve.  
  
'You know, we may as well wait. It would be even more poetical if he had to suffer on Christmas Eve,' Ailie said, as they discussed plans of attack in Hermione's chambers.  
  
'Poetic justice,' Hermione corrected her friend. She shrugged. The idea did make sense- Ailie had said that Christmas Eve was also an ancient sabbath, and so would heighten the magical properties experienced by the drinker of the potion. Besides, an extra two days would do the potion no harm. If anything, it would probably just make it stronger in its effect.  
  
Hermione suspected Ailie's idea of poetic justice had come from her current reading- A Christmas Carol. Snape was as likely a Scrooge as anyone within the castle, although she highly doubted that the man would wake up full of joie de vive. Still, it would make a wonderful Christmas present to come down to breakfast on Christmas morning to see him hollow-eyed and tortured.  
  
The plan agreed, the girls proceeded to prepare for the brewing of the potion.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Christmas was developing with more prospect than it had in several years, Hermione considered, the morning before Christmas Eve. The potion had bubbled away happily, and now sat in a pretty little flask on her bedside table. Harry had not only agreed to coming to Hogwarts for her Christmas Day gathering, but had decided to show up that very afternoon, two days early. Sirius, now a free man, though still facing the prejudices of an ex- convict, had agreed to accompany his godson for the holiday visit. And Hermione's parents had acquiesced to come for a brief visit on Christmas visit with barely an argument- though they were, on the whole, quite understanding of Hermione's lifestyle, the ways of the wizarding world still disturbed them. As they would have to travel by floo to get to Hogwarts in time, it was no small sacrifice.  
  
All in all, it was looking to be a good Christmas.  
  
Hermione stretched, relishing the feel of warm sheets against her skin. There was something about being abed on a cold winter morning that was magical in itself. She wriggled, enjoying the feeling of warmth in her toes and the brush of her nightgown around her thighs. A potent well of happiness formed in her stomach, and Hermione sat up with a smile. This Christmas was going to be great.  
  
Walking down with Ailie to breakfast, Hermione's happy thoughts dimmed somewhat. For the past few days, Ailie had almost obsessively concentrated on the dream potion for Snape. Now that it was done, however, the other girl seemed low in spirits. Though she never talked about her parents or coven, Hermione guessed that the loss of both was still one that Ailie was still grieving. That was if she had begun at all. Hermione remembered the process she had gone through when Cedric had died, and when Susan Bones had been captured and killed two years later; she still grieved for their loss. Ailie showed no signs of going through any process at all. Christmas, a time that seemed as important to Wiccan culture as a sabbath as it did to Hermione's culture, was surely a time for Ailie to let her feelings out, yet, so far, she had remained as silent on the subject as before. Just disturbingly quiet.  
  
Hermione led the way into the hall and to the two free seats at the head table. Being the holidays, meal times were more relaxed than usual, and only a few people were dotted around the room. The head table was only half-full.  
  
With care, Hermione served her friend, noting how little Ailie seemed to eat. Ailie didn't even bother to scowl when Snape swept into the room, and the man himself had not lost the disconcerted look of the day before. Hermione watched them both with concern. If only strong emotions could be transferred between the two, then it could be Ailie's depression was making itself visible in Snape. That couldn't be a good thing, could it?  
  
Something had to be done, but what, Hermione did not know. She had relatively little experience in prying into people's feelings. Harry and Ron had generally either told her what was wrong, or not. She and Ginny had been quite close as teenagers, but Ginny had always come to her with her problems, as had any of the other girls when she was Head Girl. Besides, Ailie didn't seem to want to talk. A few times, when she had seen Ailie looking a bit down, Hermione had tried to open up the subject, tried to let her know that there was someone to talk to if she wanted to, but Ailie had ignored her overtures. For such an open person, Ailie could be remarkably closed when she wanted to be.  
  
Hermione glanced across at Snape, who was sipping at his tea with a distant look on his face. There was one option that she hadn't really considered. After all, if Ailie was suffering, he would be suffering too, wouldn't he?  
  
When breakfast finished, Hermione rose, leaving Ailie in the capable hands of Professor Flitwick. Snape, as usual, had swept from the room as soon as he could contrive it. As friendly as ever, Hermione thought, as she walked as fast as she could toward the doors.  
  
She managed to catch up with him halfway down the hallway, halting him with a call.  
  
'Professor Snape!' The man turned around, and Hermione cringed at the disdainful look on his face.  
  
After a pause, Snape raised his eyebrow. 'Yes, Hermione?'  
  
Hermione refrained from gulping. She knew she had asked for it by arguing with him, but the way he had pronounced her name had sounded like an euphemism.  
  
She cleared her throat. 'Professor, may I have a word with you?'  
  
'I believe you are doing so now, Miss Granger. Kindly get on with it so I may return to my rooms in peace.'  
  
Anger rising, Hermione took a deep steadying breath. It wouldn't do to yell at him now, and anyway, she would get her revenge with him soon enough. Hanging on to that thought, she walked down the corridor toward him.  
  
'I'm very worried about Ailie, Professor,' she began. Snape's look was not encouraging, but she surged on. 'I think she's very depressed. She hasn't talked about the death of her parents and she obviously misses her coven. And she's really quiet at the moment. I'm worried.'  
  
'So you said,' Snape said in a derisive tone. 'What I fail to understand, Miss Granger, is the reason you are telling me this?' Hermione wondered if he ever got a cramp from keeping that eyebrow raised.  
  
Irritated, she said, 'I want you to talk with her.'  
  
'I see.' Snape smiled sarcastically. 'Despite such a scintillating offer, I am forced to decline.' So saying, he turned to leave. Hermione stopped him with a hand on his arm, blushing when he stared at her.  
  
'If Ailie's feeling depressed, then you suffer too. You'd be doing yourself a favour.'  
  
Snape sneered. 'I will decide what 'favours' I need, Miss Granger.' Pointedly, he looked back down at Hermione's hand, still on his arm.  
  
Quickly, Hermione removed it. Anger rose in her. Every comment the man made was designed to irritate her, to make her back down. He had no interest but to demean anyone he spoke to, and Hermione realised that she didn't need to put up with it any more.  
  
'You know, I still have trouble believing how egotistical you can be, Snape,' she said, shaking her head. 'I'm here, asking you to have a talk with a young girl who had to sit by and watch her parents being brutally murdered, and who had to suffer through gods know what else, and with whom you happen to have a psychic link, and all you can do is think of yourself, and insinuate that I have some pathetic reason for asking you in the first place! Like it or not, Snape, you and Ailie are soul-bonded. A normal person would try to cope with the situation in a human manner. But it is you who has been acting like a child! Ailie's alone, and she won't talk to me, but I thought I could just try to get someone who would understand to talk with her. I know I shouldn't have bothered, but I wish you wouldn't be such a... selfish part!' Puffing with fury, her cheeks aflame in her anger, Hermione sent her startled ex-teacher a glare and turned on her heel, stomping her way up the corridor.  
  
Snape managed to collect his senses. 'Miss Granger!' he called, in the most authoritative voice he could muster. Hermione didn't even pause.  
  
'Oh, sod off!' she called over her shoulder, in no mood to talk further with the man. She was so angry she forgot to be scared of his reaction.  
  
Hermione was discovering that yelling at Snape felt good.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Harry stepped from the fireplace in Hermione's room to be confronted by the sight of his godfather enveloping one of his oldest friends in a bear hug. It was a sight he still couldn't get used to- even after three years of his freedom, it was strange to see Sirius in a normal social environment, strange to see him so relaxed. Sirius put Hermione down, and Harry stepped forward for his turn.  
  
Wrapping his arms around his friend, Harry noticed another figure in the room, standing in the far corner and looking wary. Releasing Hermione with a smile, he looked toward the new girl.  
  
'You must be Ailie,' he said, walking toward her with his hand outstretched. 'Hermione's told me a lot about her 'cousin.''  
  
The girl took his hand, though somewhat reluctantly, and shook it. Harry felt a strange sense of familiarity. He turned to Hermione, who was now leading Sirius to the couch, and frowned.  
  
Hermione got up from the couch almost immediately, and led Ailie by the arm a little closer to the group.  
  
'Ailie, this is Harry,' she said, linking her free arm with her old school chum. 'Harry, Ailie.' This time, Harry got a small smile.  
  
'I am sorry if I seem a little strange today, Harry,' the other girl replied, and Harry was fascinated by the lilting accent tainting her voice. 'I am not feeling quite myself today.' At this, she gave Hermione a speaking look, and the Hogwarts graduate gave the other girl a small hug.  
  
'Would everyone like a cup of tea?' Hermione inquired.  
  
Harry nodded, and sat down in an arm-chair that was set next to the overstuffed couch. As Hermione summoned a tea set from the table by the bay window, he took the opportunity to glance at his surroundings.  
  
They were seated in a nicely bright room, the walls painted a yellow so pale that it was difficult to discern whether it was colour staining the wall or light itself. Hermione, ever the traditionalist, had chosen an Elizabethan style for her room, with a pattern of roses decorating the cornices and reflected in places on the carpet and furniture. A small table stood by the uncurtained window, dark wood glowing in the dim light, and bookcases of the same wood lined the far wall. In front of the fire sat the couch upon which Harry's godfather was currently seated, looking with content at the bright fire and the grace with which Hermione, seated next to him, was pouring the tea. In front of them stood a small coffee table. Either side of the couch were placed matching armchairs, in which Harry and his new acquaintance were seated, completing the cosy picture. Harry felt a slight pang as he thought of his own rooms in the Ministry of Magic housing project, cluttered with old clothes and slightly smelly. Sometimes, being a carefree bachelor of nineteen had its disadvantages.  
  
Hermione handed him his cup of tea and Harry sat back, taking the time to observe Ailie. The girl shakingly took a cup of black tea from Hermione's hand, holding it in both of her hands as if it were a life preserver. She took a first sip and pulled a face, but took another anyway. After a second, a look of relaxation came upon her face. Harry looked at his own cup, confused. What had Hermione put in it?  
  
Carefully, he took a sip, but detected nothing out of the ordinary. Curiouser and curiouser.  
  
Contemplatively, Harry sat back and observed the scene before him. There was definitely something going on that no one was telling him.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Hermione watched with relief as Ailie relaxed, becoming more of herself again. After her failed attempt to reason with Snape, Hermione had decided to try once more with the girl. Knowing Ailie probably wouldn't want to talk about her troubles, but wanting to help her in some way, Hermione had approached her with the idea of a cheering potion, to help her enjoy the Christmas break. She had been surprised at how easily Ailie accepted the idea.  
  
'That's a good idea, 'Mione,' Ailie had said, in a sad voice. 'I don't know what's got into me today- I'm sorry.'  
  
It had taken all of Hermione's power to reassure Ailie that she wasn't being a bore, and to prepare her for visitors.  
  
Now that Ailie was imbibing a cup of tea laced with cheering potion, Hermione felt she could relax a little. She settled back into her seat on the couch and prepared to listen with interest to Harry and Sirius' news.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Ailie felt the cheering solution begin to work, and smiled slightly. It was scary these days how out of control she could become, emotionally. In a relatively short period of time, she had descended from the bubble of happiness she had felt over the dream potion, into near despair. It was not an emotional climate she was used to.  
  
Damn that Snape! It was his blood coursing through her veins that made her act this way. The feeling of being pulled down was unbearable. Still, there were a few comforts she could console herself with. After their 'conversation' the other day, she had found a new and interesting option when it came to magic- it seemed, that along with his emotions, Ailie could access Snape's magical gifts. And, of more immediate comfort was the fact that soon, she would have the satisfaction of seeing that man very uncomfortable indeed.  
  
The cheering potion taking full effect, Ailie sat forward a little and paid more attention to the new company.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Dinner saw a very happy group gathered around one end of the head table. Harry was using the opportunity to catch up with Hagrid, the two of them talking so rapidly that each of them barely forced a mouthful. Sirius, smiling, sat between Dumbledore and Hermione, as the latter chatted with Ailie and Professor Sprout.  
  
Snape watched the group with uneasy eyes. Hermione's words of that morning had not gone without their effect. Much as he disliked the girl, she did have a point when she accused him of selfishness. Denying her request was not unreasonable in itself; it was, in fact, better than the wench should have expected after the scene she had caused. It was remarkable that she felt able to approach him at all.  
  
She did have a point, though, in her concern for her friend. Snape had felt Ailie's distress almost ever since they had been linked, but her grief had mingled so nicely with his own that he had been able to avoid noticing it.  
  
The girl looked fine enough now, but Snape was astute enough not to go on appearances. As he had been so aptly reminded, he did have a psychic link to the girl. He had been feeling her slow descent into depression, feeling the drain of all that was confident in her. He knew he was probably one of the most qualified to talk with the girl, as well. He would simply have to find a way to talk with her; no small task, considering her habitual reaction to him. At least, now, he knew that she was, for some lucky reason, unable to perform any sort of magic on him. He would be in no physical danger when attempting to perform his noble gesture.  
  
The idea of having to follow Hermione's suggestion, to bow to her whim, gave Snape no real discomfort. He was a reasonable man, and could admit when he was wrong. When pressed.  
  
It had been more surprise than displeasure he felt at her outburst. It was not often someone confronted him in such a way.  
  
Yes, indeed. Hermione- Miss Granger- no longer seemed afraid of him at all. He couldn't think of her yelling at him this morning without remembering her as a child, standing in his classroom with her eyes speaking defiance, yet remaining silent. The years had never changed that stance, nor that look. Oh, yes, Snape knew how much every one of his students would have liked to voice their true opinions of him over the years.  
  
Somehow, though, Hermione had managed to get beyond whatever it was that had kept her silent all those years. It seemed now that she had begun, she had decided to make up for all that time of silent fury. It was almost admirable, the way her cheeks flushed at her own daring, the way her eyes flashed at him before she glanced away in horror, her tentative boldness failing her. It was amusing.  
  
Of course, that didn't mean that he wouldn't make her pay for her impudence.  
  
Snape realised he was staring at her, and swiftly looked away. There may have been something admirable in the spirit that drove her to stand up to him after years of subservience, but nothing else there was sufficient to capture his interest.  
  
Snape glanced at Sirius Black, who had leant past Hermione to say a few words to Ailie. The years of conflict in which he and Black had fought side by side against the dark forces had dimmed somewhat their hatred for each other, to the point that they could now converse civilly. Snape, though grudgingly, would even admit a respect for the deeds Black had accomplished during the war. Besides, even old enemies had a closer relationship than new acquaintances.  
  
The young Wiccan girl smiled at something Black said, and Snape noticed the almost fatherly way with which the man returned the smile. It solidified the idea that had been forming in his mind all evening.  
  
Perhaps it would be best put into practice quickly, after dinner.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
At the close of the meal, Dumbledore stood, and suggested that the new guests to the castle be welcomed with an after dinner drink in the staff room. Nodding briefly to the few students who had remained at the school for the holidays, and indicating that they could leave, the old wizard led the way to the staff room.  
  
Hermione smiled happily as she walked from the room on the arm of Sirius. It felt so good to be in the company of her friends again, and the air seemed filled with Christmas spirit. She smiled over at Ailie, chatting with Hagrid and Harry. With these people here, things almost felt normal again.  
  
Normal was also the word that crossed Hermione's mind when she spied Snape stalking his way across the room toward them, a few minutes later. His gaze fell on her arm through Sirius', and a familiar look of disdain touched his features. Hermione carefully kept her expression disinterested, though anger sparked in her eyes. Really, the man was ready to insult her in any way possible. Still, she removed her hand from Sirius' arm.  
  
Pointedly ignoring her, Snape addressed Sirius.  
  
'May I have a word with you?'  
  
Black nodded, and with a smile to Hermione, moved with Snape to the other side of the room.  
  
Hermione looked after them with puzzled gaze as they made their way to a couple of armchairs set before a moonlit window.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
'So, what's going on with you and Hermione, Severus?' Sirius asked.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. ''Going on'?'  
  
'I saw that sneer. Practically trademarked, that look of yours. And I felt the way Hermione stiffened when you came near.' Sirius smirked, and took a sip of the brandy he had been handed upon entering the room.  
  
'If by 'Hermione' you mean Miss Granger, she has more than justified what you call my 'trademark sneer' by her ridiculous behaviour unbecoming a member of Hogwarts staff.' Snape rested his own balloon of brandy on the arm of his chair, delicately swirling the liquid and watching the light glint in the glass. 'If I were you, I would concentrate on the phrasing of that question. 'Hermione stiffened on my arm', Black?'  
  
He was surprised to see the other man's cheeks darken, and received an even darker look.  
  
'You know, Snape, you really are a bastard,' Sirius muttered. Snape's lip twitched in what could have possibly have been a smile.  
  
'My father would have been very displeased to hear that. But, anyway, I wanted to talk to you on other matters.' Pausing, Snape took a contemplative sip of his brandy, then pressed on. 'Some weeks ago I managed to save a young girl from a Dark Revel. She was injured, though not too badly, and I brought her here. I have since had to... assume some responsibility for the girl.' Snape spied Sirius' raised eyebrow and glared. 'Not because of any nefarious pleasures, I assure you.'  
  
'Am I right in assuming that the girl was Ailie?' Black asked.  
  
Snape nodded. 'I have cause for concern about her. I have been told that she is exhibiting signs of depression. She watched both of her parents die- I was unable to stop that- and you can imagine what sort of experience that was for her.'  
  
Black sneered unpleasantly. 'Wonderful.'  
  
'Yes. Not exactly a sight I would wish on anyone.' Snape looked out into the dark night for a moment, a cloud passing over his features. Black looked at him sympathetically. Both of them knew what it was like to have images that could never be banished from the mind.  
  
Quickly, Snape shook his head, and turned back to his companion. 'The girl has not grieved for her loss. It seems as though she is almost denying it, or not thinking about it. Something must be done.'  
  
'Where do I come in?'  
  
Snape took another sip of his brandy, disguising a sigh. 'Someone needs to talk to her, but I cannot do it alone. She saw me at the Dark Revel, and does not know- or has not bothered to work out for herself- my part in it. You can probably guess what conclusions she has drawn about me.'  
  
'You're an evil bastard who causes nothing but pain and should be made to suffer,' Sirius said thoughtfully. He grinned at Snape's sharp look. 'I was vocalising her thoughts, of course.'  
  
'Yes, well.' Snape frowned, and continued, 'This is my responsibility, and I do not wish to 'wriggle out of it,' as some would accuse me. However, I feel the girl is unlikely to welcome a cosy talk with I alone. As someone who is experienced in dealing with such matters...' He trailed off, spreading his hands in an eloquent gesture.  
  
Black nodded. 'You want me to talk with her as well. Well, that's no problem. I've become counsellor to others in my time.'  
  
'Thank you,' Snape said, his tone speaking the gratitude he felt for Black's uncomplicated agreement.  
  
The two men stared out the darkened window for a time, both lost in their thoughts. Eventually, Sirius said, 'I hope you're not traumatising my girl, Severus.'  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. 'I can only conclude, Sirius, from the beginning of our conversation, that you mean Hermione Granger.' Black nodded, and Snape continued, 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'  
  
'I may not be as cunningly observant as you, Severus, but don't think I didn't notice the way you two have reacted to each other all evening. I haven't seen you be so unjustifiably nasty since Harry's younger days. I want to know how Hermione has warranted it.'  
  
Snape took a sip of brandy, his face contemplative. 'Since when did Hermione Granger become a concern of yours?'  
  
'Oh, come on, Snape. I've known the girl since she was twelve. She is, in spirit, if not in fact, Harry's sister, and also a very good friend. She's family, and she needs someone to look out for her when it comes to a nasty old fart such as yourself.' Black sipped at his own glass, and waited for an answer.  
  
'I'm not being 'nasty,' as you so eloquently put it, Black,' answered Snape. 'The girl has warranted my dislike. She has always behaved improperly at this school, and that behaviour has not ceased simply because she is now here as an employee. She has a tendency toward recklessness that most people seem to ignore, and a specialised stupidity that leaves me wondering at the commendations she so commonly receives.'  
  
'That's your opinion of half the people you meet, Snape,' Black said, his eyes hiding a smile.  
  
Snape sighed. 'The girl deserves all the rebukes she gets, Black. And she should heed them. These are not times to become soft in. Besides, she is well able to look after herself, it seems. Anyone who thinks of Hermione Granger as a quiet little girl is under a dire misapprehension.'  
  
'Yes, indeed,' agreed Sirius in a low voice, directing his gaze back at Hermione. Snape's upper lip twitched, and not in amusement.  
  
'Leave me alone, Black,' he said, his voice a dangerous purr. 'I'm sure you have more interesting things to do.'  
  
His tone elicited only a laugh from his companion. 'Yes, I'm certain. Well, on the other matter, you know where to find me. We're staying in Hermione's rooms, you know.' With a leer, Black got to his feet and walked back over to where Harry and Hermione still stood. Snape followed him with his eyes, his looks dark. 


	9. Sirius interference

Disclaimer: They're not mine.  
  
  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
  
  
Hermione twirled the stem of her glass in her hand, staring unseeingly at the far side of the room. She was still disturbed by the conversation she had had with Snape earlier in the day. Well, perhaps not conversation. If she was to be honest, they had an argument. Yet another in what was becoming a long series.  
  
It was not so much the fact that she had argued with Snape that disturbed the young teacher, as the feeling that she had *enjoyed * it. It was a notion that had been sneaking into her consciousness very gradually, but after this morning, she was forced to admit, at least to herself, that there might be some truth in it. It was possible that fear or anger could have made her cheeks flush and her heart beat faster, it was even possible that adrenaline had given her the high she had been on all day since the argument, but none if these emotions should have made her skin feel so tingly, or made the recollection of the event bring a rush to her head that took her breath away.  
  
No, she had to admit it. Arguing with Snape had been *good.*  
  
As sickening as the suggestion was. Hermione had always felt that it was people like Snape himself that enjoyed bringing pain for their own amusement. It was a character fault that she would never have picked for herself, until now. Getting satisfaction from yelling at people and doing one's best to make them feel bad should feel wrong, shouldn't it?  
  
Hermione tried to comfort herself with the thought that it was only Snape, and he deserved everything he got. She watched as Sirius talked with him. The evil bastard- it never failed to provoke her admiration that Sirius could manage to talk to him after the years of hatred he had had to suffer. At the thought of telling Snape exactly how unfair he had been over the years, Hermione's pulse rate raced once again, and she took a sip of her wine. Well, she would get her revenge soon enough.  
  
As though the other girl had read her thoughts, Ailie broke off her conversation with Harry and came to stand next to her friend.  
  
'We'll give it to him tomorrow night,' she said. Hermione nodded.  
  
'Yes, but how? He needs to take it just before he goes to sleep, if it's to work properly. I hardly think he'll just gulp down something we give him.'  
  
Ailie frowned. 'We could get one of those house elf creatures to give it to him with his dinner...' she mused, but was stopped by another shake of her companion's head.  
  
'No. Knowing Snape, it would be hours later that he went to bed. We need to make certain that he goes to sleep straight afterwards.'  
  
The two girls were both caught up in thought when Sirius once again approached them. Hermione looked up with a distracted smile, but was intrigued by the answering expression on her old friend's face.  
  
She narrowed her eyes at him. 'Okay, Sirius. Spill it.' He raised his eyebrows at her in a gesture of innocence. Her suspicions confirmed, Hermione continued, 'You only ever have that particular smug expression when you think you know something that no-one else knows. So, spill it.'  
  
The older man looked down at his hands, his expression all virtuousness.  
  
'I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, my dear Hermione.' The statement was ruined by the grin that spread across his face.  
  
Hermione folded her arms across her chest. 'You do. You just had some secret chit-chat with Severus Snape and now you're standing here with that expression on your face. So just tell us what it is.'  
  
Again, Sirius raised his eyebrows. 'Oh. 'Severus' now, is it?'  
  
Hermione cursed the blush that bloomed across her cheeks and fought for an intimidating expression. 'We are colleagues, Sirius. I'm allowed to call him whatever I want. And don't try to change the subject.'  
  
'You know, he mentioned the fact that the two of you were colleagues as well,' Sirius added, sticking to his innocent tones. He caught Ailie's eye, and a grin flashed between them.  
  
Hermione looked from one to the other, baffled. There was a joke here somewhere, but she didn't get it.  
  
'Don't worry, Herm,' said Ailie, patting her shoulder. 'It's not that important.'  
  
Sirius nodded, and put his arm around her shoulder. 'You'll find out when you grow up.'  
  
Anger rose in Hermione, and she pushed Sirius away with a frown. Looking over to the window where Snape was still seated, she noticed the glare he was sending their way. She sent him one of her own.  
  
Ailie, having noticed the exchange, looked at Hermione.  
  
'You know, 'Mione, with guests here, you really should have a party for them. You know, just a few drinks, Christmas Eve. You can use our rooms.'  
  
A wide smile spread across Sirius' face. 'What a great idea.'  
  
Ailie's face creased in a mock-frown. 'Of course, we'd have to invite Severus Snape. It wouldn't do to not have him there.'  
  
Sirius gave an evil smile. 'Oh, trust me, he'll be there. I told him that I was staying in Hermione's rooms.'  
  
Again, Hermione looked at each of her friends, feeling like they were talking an a language she didn't understand. Shaking her head in defeat, she said, 'Whatever.' She turned to leave, but Sirius again caught her in a half-hug around the shoulders. Ailie smiled brightly at her, and turned to the rest of the room.  
  
'If I could have your attention, everyone,' she said loudly. Slowly, the conversations around the room ceased. She favoured the room with a bright smile. 'As tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and we've two very good friends visiting us, Hermione has kindly decided to hold a cocktail party in her rooms tomorrow evening. Everyone is welcome. Turn up after dinner.'  
  
There were nods and smiles about the room when she turned back to Hermione, whose countenance was not so happy.  
  
'I didn't think we'd actually decided on anything,' she said tremulously. 'I wouldn't even know how to hold a cocktail party...'  
  
Ailie took her arm and led her a little away from the group, saying, 'Oh, it's easy, I expect. Now listen...' She glanced over her shoulder briefly, to make sure no-one listened. 'It's the perfect way to make sure Snape drinks the potion before bed. We'll make sure to give him a drink right before he leaves.'  
  
Hermione frowned. 'But he'll never come. Snape just isn't the sort of man who goes to parties. We'd have to get Dumbledore to invite him specially-'  
  
'Or we could specifically ask him not to come,' Ailie said, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Hermione smiled a little. 'Yes, you have a point. But telling him not to come would be too strong- he's a stickler for social rules. We'd just have to indicate that you don't want him to come or something, something that would make him enjoy the thought of annoying you...'  
  
As she sought for a good ploy, she noticed the cunning gleam in her friend's eyes.  
  
'I think,' said Ailie, 'it would be best if we went about it a slightly different way. Perhaps if you were to have another argument with him tomorrow morning- you're good at those-' Hermione blushed, 'and make sure that you sit really close to Sirius at breakfast and lunch. Perhaps even give him a hug.'  
  
Hermione shot Ailie a puzzled look. 'What's Sirius got to do with anything?' she asked.  
  
'Oh, you know, Snape hates Sirius- Sirius told me all about it. It'd draw Snape's attention to the fun he could have if he could tease his old enemy a bit.'  
  
Hermione shrugged. It sounded a little weak, for a plan, but it was the best they had. 'Okay,' she agreed.  
  
With a cheerful smile, Ailie led the way back to their group. Hermione cast a glance over to Snape's chair as she walked past. He seemed quite content to be by himself, contemplating the stars. It seemed unlikely that he would go out of his way to be amongst a party of people, but, she reflected as she reached her friends and Sirius again put his arm around her, maybe Ailie was right. Snape was certainly glaring at Sirius now- maybe he was nasty enough to come along just to be mean to her friend.  
  
With an inward shrug, Hermione turned her attention to what Harry was saying.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
The next morning went exactly according to plan. Hermione sat herself next to Sirius at breakfast, giving him a habitual kiss on the cheek and attracting Snape's glare in return. Snape happened to be sitting directly opposite them, for some reason, but Hermione shrugged it off.  
  
Directly after breakfast, as she walked to the library to return some texts, Hermione was given the perfect excuse to argue with Snape as he bumped into her, forcing her to drop all her books. A snide remark he made as she scrambled to pick them up pushed her far beyond her ingrained bounds of politeness, and the row they had attracted quite an audience before both stormed off in a fury.  
  
With the instinctive feeling that it would rattle Snape no end, Hermione slipped her arm through Sirius' as they walked in to lunch, and again sat next to him. During lunch, Snape glared at them almost without a pause, though Hermione refrained from glancing at him, fixing her attention on her friend's conversation. It made her enjoyment of an excellent lunch all the sweeter to know she was annoying her enemy.  
  
Actually, she reflected as the meal drew to a close, she was having a rather good time. It had been quite some time since she had been able to sit and talk with Sirius this way, and she was rediscovering how much she liked about her old friend. Even immediately after his release from Azkaban, when he could be forgiven for being antisocial or moody, Sirius had always made an effort to open himself to Harry, showing the fatherly love he had for his godson. He had also always included Harry's friends in the equation, something Hermione had been unused to in the non-wizarding world. It was Sirius' attitude that had made them seem like family; she, Harry and Ron, even more so than their close friendship might have created. Like Molly Weasley, Sirius had seemed to embrace the other two of the trio as a welcome extension of the family, and, as the years slowly drew her farther and farther away from her own family, Hermione was grateful for it.  
  
Sirius was also an interesting person in his own right. His tales of his younger days at Hogwarts, though tinged with a little sadness sometimes, were fascinating, and his studies and explorations since his release spoke of a man with a strong purpose in life. He had always been an eloquent man; Hermione still blushed when she thought of the crush she had harboured for a few years in her adolescent bosom. It was good, however, to begin to know him as an adult.  
  
A trip to Hogsmeade was decided upon, and Hermione returned to her rooms with Christmas spirit firmly in place. A remark of the night before entered her head as she unlocked the wards on her door and entered her warm sitting room; Sirius had said that Snape believed him to be staying in Hermione's rooms, instead of the guest rooms he and Harry occupied. A slight frown marred her face. Something was going on, she could feel it, like a joke she hadn't been told about yet. Still, she thought as she donned her scarf and heavy winter cloak, it wouldn't help her to worry about it, especially when she had more pleasant things to do.  
  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
  
  
Sirius strolled behind the group with Ailie, both of them silent as they watched Hermione, Harry and a few of the students that had stayed behind for the holidays cavort in the snow on the path.  
  
'She has no idea, does she?' he asked with a smile.  
  
Ailie grinned back at him. 'Not a clue.' Her expression sobered. 'I don't think she's had much experience in that area.'  
  
Sirius shook his head. 'As much as I know, from the boys. She had a short fling with a foreign student when they were all fourteen, and apparently she and Ron kissed when they were fifteen, just to see what it was like.' A laugh rumbled in his chest. 'Ron told me about it- in utmost secrecy, of course.' He encountered Ailie's curious look, and raised an eyebrow. Ailie shrugged.  
  
'I don't think I'll ever get used to wizarding ways,' she said. 'In my coven, these things are natural. I've talked with Hermione about such things, and she gets embarrassed. I don't know why. It was considered natural to kiss one's friends when I was young- we were just exploring. I've kissed all my friends.'  
  
Sirius' eyebrow raised higher. 'Really? All?' His English discretion prevented him from asking the question that trembled in his mind at that picture.  
  
'Of course.' Ailie made a disgusted sound. 'How are you supposed to choose your lifemate if you haven't explored all your options? All this suppression of one's feelings, it's nonsense.'  
  
Sirius pursed his lips and looked away. The evident disgust in Ailie's tone made him smile. It reminded him of how young she was. He could remember when life was so simple.  
  
'I have to say, though,' he added, after a pause, 'it is most pleasurable to be annoying Severus this way. I haven't seen him like this since we were at school together.' He chuckled. 'It's wonderful to get under his skin again.'  
  
Ailie smiled. 'I have to admit, I've no fond feelings for Snape, either.'  
  
Sirius looked at her. 'I had a feeling the story about a 'cousin visiting from Scotland' was a ruse. So- the story.' An alarmed look crossed his features. 'You're not Severus' ill-begotten daughter or something of the kind?'  
  
Ailie laughed. 'I seriously doubt it. Ugh,' she added with a shiver, 'what a thought.'  
  
Sirius gave her a sly smile. 'Why not? It's the thought you've been having for Hermione.'  
  
Ailie slapped him on the arm. 'I was talking about being his daughter, not- not-' she stuttered into silence. 'Anyway, Hermione won't have to worry about it. It's sufficient to just tease him with her.'  
  
'Hmm,' said Sirius. He had a feeling Ailie might soon be disillusioned. 'Anyway, we shall see.'  
  
Ailie gave him a puzzled look, and shrugged. She looked ahead, where Harry and the children were busy trying to stuff snow down Hermione's cloak. 'It looks like our friend might need our help.' She ran ahead, ready to join the fray.  
  
Sirius continued at a more leisurely pace, enjoying the revelry before him. It was wonderful to be experiencing a family Christmas once more. He enjoyed seeing Harry happy, and had to admit that, if Ron and Remus were not absent, all of his family would be right in front of him. He had suffered many losses over the years.  
  
Reaching the giggling group in front of him, Sirius crossed his arms and tut-tutted at the pile of people on the ground below. They were all evidently laughing too hard to get up, Hermione and Harry the loudest amongst them. With a dramatic sigh, Sirius began helping them off the ground.  
  
When Harry was occupied picking up giggling students and brushing them off, Sirius gave his hand to Hermione, watching as she gracefully pulled herself up next to him. Looking down on her flushed face, cheeks blooming with youth and beauty, Sirius understood why his old enemy found himself so flustered near her. If he were working with such a fine example of English maidenhood, he'd find it difficult to concentrate on being a nasty old man as well. If he weren't practically her uncle, Sirius reminded himself, brushing a strand of hair back from the young girl's face.  
  
The group continued on to Hogsmeade, Sirius with a contemplative frown on his face. 


	10. Some talks, and some teasing

Disclaimer: Dear J.K. and the honourable board members of Warner Bros. I am a student currently living on $5 a day. I cannot afford to buy shoes. Do you really think I'm going to steal characters that have become famous worldwide, pretending that the work of an English writer and mother is my own? Your brain may work that way, but mine does not. I know a hopeless cause. Sincerely, clarity.  
  
  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
  
  
Sirius had fixed it with Snape that they should have their chat with Ailie before dinner. Somehow, he had to get Ailie along to Dumbledore's office without telling her his purpose- as Snape had pointed out, if the girl realised she was in for a cosy chat with the man she hated, she would never come along quietly. Somehow, Sirius had to get her there, and keep her there long enough for her to open up a bit.  
  
The opportunity came when Dumbledore, strolling past with McGonagall, mentioned that he wanted to donate some sweets to the evening's party. Seeing the twinkle in the old man's eye, Sirius had volunteered to fetch them for him, and the old man had agreed most amiably, turning to Ailie and suggesting, as she had yet to see the headmaster's office, that she accompany Sirius.  
  
Sirius silently thanked his old headmaster's omnipotence as he led Ailie through the corridors. Sensing that it would be best to get the topic on its way before they reached the rendezvous, he searched for a good opening.  
  
Finally, he asked, 'So, looking forward to Christmas? It's an important time for Wiccans, I hear.' He was satisfied, though not pleased, to see a sad look cross his young companion's face.  
  
'Yes, it was.' She sighed. 'I'll have to perform the rituals by myself, this year.'  
  
Sirius nodded his head. 'Hermione told me a little about what happened, Ailie,' he lied. The only story he had heard was from Severus. 'I'm very sorry for your loss.'  
  
Ailie shook her head, her chin coming up obstinately. 'It is the natural scheme of things. We all die. Our spirits need the release.'  
  
Sirius took a deep breath, glad to note that they had reached the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's doorway. This was not going to be easy.  
  
'Squidgy quidgeleys,' he said, using the password the old wizard had given him. The gargoyle stepped aside, and Sirius motioned for Ailie to precede him up the stairway. He felt the stairs moved and smiled. He hadn't lost his fascination for the charming magic of his childhood.  
  
He reached around Ailie and opened the door when they reached the Headmaster's office, thankful he was blocking her path as she spied Snape seated within.  
  
'You,' she gasped, half-turning back, but prevented by Sirius' bulk in the doorway.  
  
'We need to have a bit of a talk, Ailie,' Sirius said, trying to keep his tone light. He winced as the young girl's face paled.  
  
Snape noticed her reaction, and shook his head. 'Tactful as ever, Black. Why don't you give our young guest a seat?'  
  
Sirius ushered Ailie into a chair, pulling another up next to her and seating himself. A fire danced in the grate, he noticed. It was uncharacteristically thoughtful for Snape to have added such a cosy touch.  
  
Ailie looked to each of the men, her gaze wary. Snape sat forward.  
  
'Ailie,' he began, his voice uncommonly soft, 'the reason Sirius brought you up here is so that you could have a chance to talk, if you wanted to, about what has happened to you.'  
  
Her face soured. 'You think I would want to talk to you?'  
  
Snape sat back, and shook his head, unaffected by the insult. 'No. I know you don't. But as we are blood-bound it is my responsibility to make sure you are happy and well. Hermione informs us that you have not grieved for your parents, and that you refuse to talk when questioned. We simply thought that it might be beneficial for you to have a chance to talk, with people who might understand.'  
  
Sirius leant toward her. 'Ailie, I know this seems like an ambush, but all we want to do is be here for you; really. You have gone through a tough time, and you should talk about it.'  
  
Ailie's expression remained mulish. 'I have nothing to talk about. Hermione had no right to tell you.'  
  
The men exchanged a look, an unspoken communication passing between them.  
  
'Ailie,' Sirius began. 'Has anyone told you about the things that have been happening in the wizarding world? How people have been harmed?'  
  
Ailie softened a little. 'Hermione told me that Harry's parents had died, and that someone had killed people when she was in school. She didn't like to talk about it.'  
  
Sirius nodded. 'These things have happened because a dark wizard, a very powerful one, has been threatening the safety of our world for these last years. Lord Vol- Vo-' Sirius' face went pale, the tide of memories washing over him.  
  
'Voldemort,' Snape finished for him, his voice untinged with emotion. 'And he is not worthy of the title, 'Lord.' He is an evil force that has been attempting to take over and rule this earth for the last twenty years. His followers maim, rape and kill wherever they can, and are particularly cruel to what they perceive as tainted blood, muggles, half-bloods or other magical peoples. Like you.'  
  
Comprehension slowly dawned on Ailie's face, but she remained silent.  
  
Snape nodded at her. 'Yes, child, you guess correctly. The men that took your family follow the Dark Lord. Particularly pathetic specimens of a group of people who call themselves 'Death Eaters', and I am one of them.' A sneer of self-disgust marred his face, and Sirius felt he should take over.  
  
'Many horrible things have happened in this world in the last years,' he said, his face saddened. 'Friendships have come to mean everything, or nothing. I knew Harry's parents, went to school with them just like Hermione went to school with Harry. We-' he broke off, swallowing, 'we were the best of friends, a group of us. James, Harry's father, Remus, myself... and Peter. Just after Harry was born, we learnt that He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named had plans for James and Lily. They were put in a safe place, and only one person- me- was supposed to know where they were.' Sirius took a deep breath. 'I was supposed to be their secret-keeper,' he went on, looking at Ailie through teary eyes. 'The secret keeper is the person who holds their location. No-one else knows. I was supposed to do that for them.' The story he told brought back once more the horror of that time, that night when he had found James and Lily dead, and had known who had betrayed them. 'I convinced them to use our friend Peter, instead. No-one would have suspected him for their secret-keeper. No-one expected that he was a Death Eater as well.' A slice of pain ran through Sirius' heart at the words, and he took another breath to steady himself. In a dead voice, he continued, 'He betrayed them. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named went to their house, and killed James, and then killed Lily- killed Lily while she protected Harry. While she protected her son.' A silent tear ran down Sirius' cheek. There had been so many years that he had been unable to grieve for his friends, and now, since his release, it seemed as though the wound had been caused only yesterday, so fresh felt his grief.  
  
He steadied himself once more, and looked up at Ailie. He could feel Snape's steady gaze on him, but knew the other man would not deride him for his display of emotion. There was that shared generosity between them, at least.  
  
'Everyone thought I had been the one, the secret-keeper to give them away. They tracked me down, but not before I got to Peter. He and I had a fight in the open streets- he killed people, innocents just standing around. In my counter-curse he vanished, as though dead. They took me and put me in Azkaban, but I didn't care.'  
  
'Azkaban?' Ailie interrupted, looking to Snape for an answer.  
  
'A wizard gaol. Run by beings who feed off the souls of humans, sapping their strength. Death is preferable.' Snape finished his matter-of- fact answer and nodded back to Sirius, knowing there was more to come.  
  
Sirius accepted his silent support. 'But Peter wasn't dead. Ever since we were children, the four of us could change into animals. We all wanted to help Remus-' he paused, knowing it wasn't his secret to tell. 'Well, anyway, Peter had merely transformed, escaping as the rat he was. I didn't know he was alive until I saw a picture of him with Ron's family, sitting on poor Ron's shoulder like any faithful pet. I escaped, and came to Hogwarts, hoping to warn Harry. Unfortunately,' he added with a wry look to Snape, 'Peter got away.'  
  
Snape's answer was a frown.  
  
Ailie sat back, obviously taking the story in. 'And Azkaban? You had to go back there?'  
  
Sirius smiled for the first time during his recollection. 'No, thank Merlin. I have many faithful friends here at Hogwarts, and was able to elude the Dementors until such time as my pardon came through.'  
  
Ailie nodded, and looked at Snape. He raised an eyebrow, but softened his harsh expression as the girl again became withdrawn.  
  
'I know you will want to hear my story, but I am afraid that it has far less detail, and far less heroism than my companion's.' Snape leant back in his chair and stared into the fire, his fingers steepled. Sirius knew that Snape's story would be harder for the man to tell.  
  
'I became a Death Eater in my final year of schooling, and of my own free will,' he began. He seemed to feel Ailie's indrawn breath as much as Sirius did, because he became, if possible, even more drawn into himself. 'I was a highly intelligent, but nonetheless stupid and ignorant boy, and there can be no excuses for the things I have done. I stayed with my Lord Voldemort-' Sirius flinched, but Snape continued on without reaction '- until my twenty-first year, by which time I realised the full stupidity of my earlier choice. This was not before I had done several acts of which I will be most hideously reviled for the rest of my life.' Here, Snape swallowed, but continued almost without pause. 'I came to Dumbledore, reckoning the man who had given me most of the goodness in life should be the one to strike out the evil I had incarnated in myself. I offered him,' Snape said, tracing designs on the leather of his seat, 'my head as bounty for the Ministry of Magic. I thought it would at least expunge any doubts the Ministry had about Dumbledore's affiliations, having heard the rumours that so many graduates of Hogwarts turning to the dark had created. Dumbledore, being none other than what he is, refused. I have been cursing him for it ever since.'  
  
Snape paused for a minute, looking into the fire.  
  
Ailie stared at him firmly. 'You don't believe that.'  
  
Both Snape and Sirius looked up in surprise. Snape raised an eyebrow, and Ailie continued, 'You love Dumbledore. You would gladly lay your life at his feet, if he asked it, and you think that what he has asked of you over the years is more than reasonable.' At Snape's continued stare, Ailie added, 'I'm in your blood, Severus. Don't think you can fool me.'  
  
Sirius took this revelation in with surprise, and some puzzlement. He wondered what it could mean.  
  
Snape made no move to explain. 'I don't know why I bother telling you things,' he said, his eyes still on Ailie.  
  
Ailie smiled. 'I can't read thoughts, you know. Not unless they're really strong, anyway. Besides, you need to tell me. It's like a- like a-' She frowned.  
  
'Healing process,' Sirius finished for her. 'We talk, and we heal, Ailie. That's what we're really trying to share with you.'  
  
An obstinate look came over Ailie's face once more. 'Snape hasn't finished his story,' she said.  
  
Snape nodded. 'You're right. I would lay down my life for Albus Dumbledore; it's a particular quality he has. I'm certain, if he had been born some centuries ago, both Merlin and Arthur would have had some serious competition.' He glanced down for a moment, then, apparently steeled, looked back up into Ailie's eyes. 'I became a spy for the Ministry. Until the death of James and Lily Potter, when the Dark Lord was beaten by a child, I continued in my place as a Death Eater, collecting information on Voldemort's movements and preventing what harm I could. Several years ago, when the Dark Lord again rose, I was called back to his side, and my work has since continued. But I am no hero, child, and no suffering angel. I have prevented what I could, but I have not done so when my position would be threatened. I have not 'saved the day,' as so many fairytale characters do.' He stared at Ailie intensely, as if daring her to contradict him.  
  
Ailie met his stare, but shivered. 'You're so cold,' she said. Sirius reached up to lay a comforting hand on her arm, and was startled to find it shaking.  
  
Snape nodded slowly.  
  
Ailie looked away for a second, looking back when tears no longer clouded her eyes. 'Are you saying that my parents- that with my parents-'  
  
'I am saying that had I been there from your abduction, I would not have prevented your parents' death. It was by a small miracle only that I could prevent yours.'  
  
Tears spilled from Ailie's eyes, and she darted from her chair, so quickly that Sirius could not hold her. In a desperate rage, Ailie tried to harm Snape in any way she could, the older man easily preventing her blows from doing any harm. Sirius quickly knelt by Ailie's side, trying to calm her down.  
  
Eventually, the girl's blows stopped, and her breath broke into sobs. Sirius looked on in amazement as Snape enfolded the young girl in his arms, stroking her hair and murmuring soothing words. The best Sirius could do was pat Ailie repeatedly on the shoulder.  
  
Slowly, words began to break through the sobs, and Ailie's voice gradually told the story of her parents, her face muffled in Snape's shoulder. The men let her talk it out, listening to her words without interruption. In time, Ailie relaxed more, slumping on the floor and telling of her fears about her coven. Her arm still rested on Snape's knee as she sat at his feet, and Sirius noted that, though uncomfortable, Snape was unwilling to disturb the young girl. Sirius, sitting on the floor beside her, did the best he could by patting her hand now and then.  
  
'There is no other reason for them not to come and find me,' Ailie was saying, tears once again streaming down her face. 'My coven would find me if they could, wouldn't they? They must have expelled me. I can't- I can't believe that they are dead too. Oh-' she descended into Gaelic, her resource when overcome.  
  
Sirius squeezed her hand. 'We don't know the worst yet, Ailie,' he said in as comforting a voice as he could muster. 'There could be any number of reasons that have prevented their coming.' He looked to Snape for help.  
  
The other man smoothed the sobbing girl's hair at his knee, an unreadable expression on his face. 'It is best to face the worst, but only when the time is right. Grieving for your coven now would be wasted energy. As my associate here,' he added, with a nod to Sirius, 'pointed out so aptly, we do not know what has happened. You waste time grieving for something that may not be.'  
  
'You're still grieving your parents, Ailie,' Sirius added softly. 'You've not the strength for wonderings about something you cannot change right now.'  
  
Ailie sniffed, attempting to calm down. 'But I have not even performed releasing rituals for my parents. The others- they may not have done it, in case we were all right. It needs to be done- otherwise they are trapped-'  
  
Sirius took his turn at comforting the girl, putting an arm around her and pushing her hair out of her face. He accepted the handkerchief handed silently down from the chair with a grateful smile. 'Is there not anything we can do here? I know it's a bit of a stretch, but you should think of us here as your temporary coven, for now.'  
  
Ailie, her face buried in the handkerchief, nodded. 'I suppose it can be done. I just need to-' After a few attempts to get the sentence out, Ailie let the sobs come forth again, leaning into Sirius.  
  
'I want my mother!' she sobbed into his shirt, her body rocking with great sobs. Sirius smoothed her hair and let her cry, knowing that it needed to be done. He was surprised when Snape's hand came down and took one of Ailie's hands, the young girl grasping on to it like a lifeline.  
  
After Ailie's sobs had subsided once more, Severus presented another clean handkerchief. Sirius looked at him questioningly. Snape shrugged; obviously he had known to come prepared.  
  
Ailie dried her face and took a deep breath, and Sirius felt it was okay to let go of her. With relief, he moved back onto his chair, noting with displeasure that his knees were not what they used to be.  
  
Snape looked around the room as Ailie straightened herself, and raised his eyebrows. Sirius followed his gaze to the desk, whereupon sat a steaming tea-tray.  
  
'Dumbledore really does know everything, doesn't he?' Sirius asked in amazement.  
  
Snape glanced up at the clock. 'An hour and a half precisely since we entered the room. The man merely has a good sense of timing.' He looked over at Ailie, who was now seated, but rubbing her head. 'Are you well?'  
  
Ailie shook her head, then winced. 'Crying always gives me a headache,' she said, with a small smile.  
  
'A headache potion?' Snape asked, half-rising. Ailie again shook her head, this time more timidly.  
  
'No, I think I could be all right if I could just have some tea?' She looked at Sirius pleadingly.  
  
'I'll be mother, then. shall I?' Sirius said, getting up and walking over to the desk. 'How do you have it?'  
  
'Black, two sugars, please,' Ailie said behind him.  
  
'Severus?' he asked. Pouring tea gave him an unusually chipper feeling.  
  
'The same, if you please,' the other man replied.  
  
With a raised eyebrow, Sirius poured the teas, placing biscuits from the tray on each saucer. A sugar rush would do them all good.  
  
They drank in silence for a while, each concerned with their own thoughts. When the tea had gone cold, Sirius shook himself free from his contemplation.  
  
'How's your headache now?' he asked Ailie.  
  
She gave him a small smile. 'Much better, thank you.' Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius perceived a pleased look on Severus' face.  
  
Silence again descended on the group, as the fire crackled in the hearth.  
  
'I still hate you, you know,' Ailie suddenly said. Sirius started. It took a few seconds for it to penetrate that the remark was not directed at him.  
  
On the other side of the fire, Severus inclined his head, but remained silent. Sirius drew further back into his chair, aware that he was privy to a conversation in which he had no part.  
  
'You are aware we will have to deal with each other,' Snape added, breaking the silence.  
  
Ailie nodded in turn. 'I guess we can't completely ignore each other,' she agreed.  
  
'If only it were possible,' Snape muttered, apparently to himself.  
  
'Well, it's not as if I like stalking around like some great daft bat,' Ailie said, angered. 'It disturbs Hermione no end, and it makes me tired!'  
  
'No, we must not disturb the inestimable Miss Granger,' Snape muttered, low enough for Sirius to have trouble catching it. As he did, he smiled. 'And the urge to perform the Sun Ritual- something I would be ignorant of how to do- is supposed to bring me sublime pleasure, coming as it does three times a day?' Snape added, his voice deceptively silky. Sirius was familiar with that tone- it spoke volumes far beyond what he actually said. Failing, as he did, to understand the conversation, Sirius felt as if he was refereeing a strange sort of tennis match.  
  
'Fine,' Ailie said, with a tone that crossed its arms in defiance.  
  
Silence reigned in the room for a few minutes. Just as Sirius felt he should do something to smooth things over, Snape again spoke.  
  
'But we do have to deal together,' he said, in a tone remarkably soft. 'At least until some remedy can be found.'  
  
'If one can be found at all,' Ailie admitted, her tone also softening. 'So, what do we do? Happy thoughts?'  
  
'Perhaps,' Snape replied, 'a truce. We leave each other alone, as far as possible. We...' here, Sirius heard his old enemy take a deep breath, 'take care to govern our thoughts, and actions, toward each other.'  
  
'Perhaps you both should try looking out for each other,' Sirius ventured, silenced by the startled glares from the two other chairs. He raised his hands in supplicance. 'Hey, it was just a suggestion. I'll- I'll just clear up the tea things, shall I?' he added, at their continued glares.  
  
Making as much clatter as he could, Sirius collected the cups and saucers and settled them on the tray, doing his best not to listen to the conversation behind him. After a while, having done all he could do, he settled down his noise, catching the last of the conversation.  
  
'So you suggest we resist- provoking each other? We just get along?' Ailie was asking, somewhat incredulously.  
  
'It is our only option,' Snape agreed, his own tone reflecting Ailie's doubt. Sirius heard Ailie sigh, and felt able to turn and rejoin the conversation.  
  
'Well, it will be dinner soon,' he said brightly. 'Shall we all go and prepare?' Ailie nodded, and Sirius gave her his arm. He had expected Snape to remain where he was, and was surprised to see him rise and follow them.  
  
The three managed some pleasant conversation on the way to Hermione's and Ailie's rooms, where Snape, with a slight bow, made to leave them. Ailie halted him with a word.  
  
'Snape,' she called as he walked down the corridor. 'Thank you.'  
  
The older man acknowledged her thanks with a nod, and left without a word. Sirius smiled and turned to Ailie.  
  
'Better now?' he asked, noting Ailie's slightly changed mood. The girl nodded.  
  
'Thank you, Sirius. You are a good friend.'  
  
Sirius nodded, then looked at her. He had been patient, but he couldn't hold his curiosity back any longer.  
  
'What the hell were you and Snape talking about back there?' he asked.  
  
Ailie laughed, her eyes cheerful once more. 'There are some things that do not concern you,' she said.  
  
'If you don't tell me, I can only conclude that you and Severus are the divorced couple that you sounded like back there,' Sirius warned, hoping to tease the answer out of her.  
  
'Nothing so simple, unfortunately,' Ailie replied with a sigh. 'Be satisfied by knowing that, like you, Snape and I are forced to know each other, and, though we dislike each other intensely, will do the best we can to get along civilly, for our mutual comfort.'  
  
Sirius nodded. His curiosity was not satisfied, but he could see he would get no straight answer. With a shrug, he bowed and left Ailie to her preparations. He could always ask Hermione- she was sure to know everything.  
  
Walking back to his quarters, he caught up to Severus, and decided to do a little teasing.  
  
'Hey, Sev,' he called, knowing that the shortening of his name would annoy the man no end. Snape merely turned and raised an eyebrow.  
  
'You coming to our little shindig tonight?' Sirius asked.  
  
'No. I believe I will give your little 'shindig' a miss, if I may,' the other man answered with a sneer.  
  
'Oh, what a shame. You will be missed,' said Sirius, leaning casually on a nearby gargoyle. He smiled as a spark of interested darted through his old enemy's eyes.  
  
'I doubt it. But tell me,' said Snape, strolling closer. 'What prompts your interest about my plans?'  
  
'Oh, I just wanted to check.' Sirius delicately cleaned a nail, being pointedly casual. 'For Hermione, you see. What with the way you've been treating her lately, I think she'd be uncomfortable if you came. It's in her rooms, you know. I just wanted to make sure.'  
  
Snape controlled a twitch of his lip with an effort. 'If Miss Granger had wished to exclude me from the invitation, I am certain that she would have had little difficulty.'  
  
'Oh, I know,' Sirius replied. 'I would just hate to have her made uncomfortable.' A muffled snort erupted from Snape, and Sirius raised an eyebrow.  
  
'My experiences of the past several days have taught me Hermione Granger has the tongue of a harpy,' said Snape. 'The wench can take care of herself if in discomfort, be assured.' Sirius merely remained, with eyebrow raised, and Snape sent him a glare. 'It strikes me, Black, that your concerns are more with your 'Hermione' than with me. Perhaps you should run along and entertain her.'  
  
Sirius knew the remark was designed to provoke him, but was too amused by the sight of a jealous Snape to be annoyed. 'Perhaps I shall,' he said, with a sly smile, and strolled off, aware of Snape's stare still fixed to his back.  
  
This was beginning to be very amusing. 


	11. Building Tension

Disclaimer: THEY'RE NOT MINE!!!!! AAAAAAAARGH!!!! Apart from Ailie, that is.  
  
  
  
Chapter Eleven- Building Tension  
  
  
  
Hermione toyed with her food, aware that Snape's stare was again on her. He wasn't being as obvious about it as usual, only glancing at her occasionally, but the poison contained in that glance would have stunned a goat. It was obvious he was angry at her, but what cause?  
  
Of course, it could be the fact that she had argued twice with him so far today, and had been doing so for the past week. She had certainly committed enough offences in his eyes for him to be furious at her for the next ten years. And, she had to admit, he had been more or less permanently angry at her since the first of their acquaintance. Still, she had argued with him in previous days and he had been satisfied to merely sneer at her and ignore her as best he could. Today, he seemed bent on intimidating her.  
  
Feeling resentment rise, Hermione sniffed, and looked up, tilting her chin proudly. Snape, ever undaunted, continued to glare at her. Keeping her face expressionless, she raised an eyebrow. There, she thought. Try a trick of his own on him.  
  
The gesture seemed to have little impact, however, so Hermione gave up. Intimidating Snape would be like trying to out-twinkle Dumbledore; best not to mess with the master. She followed the long-ago advice of her mother, and ignored the bully.  
  
Turning to Sirius at her side, she saw a twinkle in his eye. 'Better watch it, 'Mione,' he said with a grin. 'Looks like all this hanging about Severus has made you catch some of his behaviour.'  
  
'I am not hanging about with Professor Snape,' Hermione answered, with gritted teeth. 'We have merely had some disagreements over the past few days. And I,' she added, when Sirius' grin widened at her outburst, 'am tired of this 'nudge, nudge, wink, wink' business between you and Ailie. What are you two on about?'  
  
Her attitude failed to dim Sirius' gleeful smile. 'Hermione, dear, I will tell you when you are older.'  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. 'You will tell me now or I will make certain that a certain big black dog gets a terrible case of fleas in the next few hours.'  
  
Sirius studied her for a few moments, weighing his options. Eventually, he nodded. 'Hermione... do you remember when Ron was constantly fighting with that Ravenclaw girl in your last year of school?' he asked.  
  
Hermione frowned. 'Oh, you mean the one he ended up...' Comprehension of his meaning slowly dawned on her, and her eyes widened. 'No, Sirius. You cannot possibly mean that Severus Snape and I have a crush on each other! You are completely, totally insane if you think that I... That he...' She stuttered into horrified silence.  
  
Sirius shrugged, still smiling broadly. 'I didn't say you had a crush on each other. I don't think emotions have anything to do with the ants in old Sevvie's pants.' He paused, thinking for a moment. 'And I never inferred that it was a two way thing, either, missy. Hmm... is there something you're not telling me?'  
  
Hermione, cheeks aflame, looked down at her dinner in an attempt to avoid his knowing grin. After a moment, she was able to collect her thoughts enough to utter a reply.  
  
'Sirius Black, there is nothing between Severus Snape and myself. You are imagining things. And if you think one or two arguments with that man means that he has some sort of...' she trailled off, unwilling to put his insinuation into words. 'If that were true, Snape would have to be after the better part of the residents of this school, including students and Headmaster Dumbledore.'  
  
Sirius laughed, the booming sound ringing out over the hall. 'Whatever you say, Herm, dear.'  
  
Ailie leant past Harry, on Sirius' other side, her expression curious. 'What do you say, Herm, dear?'  
  
'Nothing!' Hermione fumed, her cheeks again beet red.  
  
'I was just discussing ants with my esteemed friend,' Sirius said, sending Ailie a wink.  
  
'Oh.' Ailie smiled. 'Ants, huh?'  
  
Harry looked at each of them, his expression all puzzlement. 'What?'  
  
'Don't worry about it, Harry,' Ailie said, patting his hand. The two resumed their conversation, turning their attention back to their food.  
  
Hermione kept her head down, aware that the last part of their conversation had attracted the attention of the entire table. Now Snape's glare was freely on her, no doubt expressing his displeasure at having his meal interrupted by such a child.  
  
She spent the rest of the meal in silence, barely tasting the food in front of her. What an idea! That Snape... That he would...  
  
Hermione had no illusions about her power to attract. Over the entire span of her school years at Hogwarts she had failed to attract a single male, apart from Viktor Krum. Certainly, there had been Ron, who had imagined a crush on her for a while, and Neville had once stutteringly expressed the idea that she was quite pretty, once, but while girls like Lavander and Parvarti were spending hours in the bathroom improving their looks, she had been sitting in the library improving her mind. And, face it, the idea of falling in love over a library table, while one of the most romantic fantasies, just did not happen in reality.  
  
There had been one or two boys that had approached her during her time at college, but they had been little put down by her apologetic refusals on the grounds of needing to study, and, besides, boys at college were really out to bag as many girls as possible. It was little recommendation to her looks that some over-excited eighteen-year-old males had wanted to date her.  
  
No, Hermione reflected, there was little chance of her attracting any male in the near future. Men, contrary to the warming advice given by mothers and magazines, did not tend to go for brains over beauty, and, while keeping herself tidy, Hermione had never really been concerned with the ins and outs of fashion.  
  
And the idea of Severus Snape ever stooping so low as to even consider looking at her with anything but distaste was simply ludicrous.  
  
The disturbing concept filled her mind well into the evening, and Hermione found herself approaching Ailie as they prepared her rooms for the party.  
  
'Ailie,' she began, sitting distractedly on the couch that Ailie was trying to move, 'am I attractive?'  
  
Ailie, having her efforts at shoving the couch up against a wall frustrated, smiled fondly at her friend.  
  
'Hermione, you know you're a very nice-looking person. What's brought this on?'  
  
Hermione frowned and shook her head. 'No, I don't mean to ask if I'm ugly, or a bad person. I want to know if I could be attractive.'  
  
Ailie sat on the couch next to her friend. 'You're certainly attractive enough to catch the attention of one or two men I wouldn't dare name,' she said, with a mischevious grin.  
  
Hermione frowned at her once more. 'I don't want to talk about that. I want to know whether it's possible that I could be attractive.'  
  
Ailie smiled softly at her, and Hermione wondered if her expression was as downcast as she felt inside.  
  
''Mione, you are an attractive woman. You're just not... glamourous.'  
  
'I wouldn't know how to be,' Hermione said, feeling dismal.  
  
'Is there anyone in particular you want to attract?' asked Ailie, slyly.  
  
Hermione's eyes widened. 'No! And don't think I don't know what you're referring to. You and Sirius have both gone completely insane, and I refuse to even think about it, Ailie. You're just doing it as some sort of weird torture.' A sudden thought dawned on Hermione, and she turned on her friend. 'You're not purposely doing it to taunt him, are you? You're not trying to say that Snape's so decrepit he'd even be- attracted to a- a frump like me?' Tears stung the corners of Hermione's eyes, but she blinked them back. It must be some sort of hormonal flux, she reflected. Usually, the thought of being used in a prank wouldn't affect her. A lifelong nerd like herself was numb to such things by now.  
  
Ailie sternly shook her head, and wrapped her arm around her friend. 'Don't you ever think like that! Hermione, you could never be used to taunt a man- or you could, but only ever as something that he would want. Please believe me,' Ailie said, forcing Hermione to look at her.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Hermione shrugged. 'I'm sorry. I know you'd never do that to me, Ailie. I shouldn't have accused you like that.'  
  
Ailie snorted. 'It's not the accusation, Hermione, it's the fact that a pretty woman like you is sitting in front of me doubting that a healthy man could find her attractive. Why do you think Snape's so grumpy today? Because he's seen how much Sirius likes you. You've got him all tied up.' Ailie smiled, as if relishing the thought.  
  
'Tied in knots,' Hermione corrected her friend. 'That's the phrase. And, Ailie, I don't know where you got this whole idea about S-s... him, but you're completely wrong and it upsets me to be teased about it.' Hermione sighed, and added. 'It's doubtful that I'd be able to receive such attentions- even from him.'  
  
Ailie frowned, and hugged her tighter. 'I don't see why not. Sirius likes you.' She caught Hermione's frown and shrugged, dropping her arm. 'Of course, if you want to ignore it, I'll not mention it again. But Hermione,' she added, 'you're not unattractive. I wish there was some way I could convince you.'  
  
Hermione sighed, and nodded. 'I know that I'm not hideous. I'm sorry. I'm just in a mood. It's just...' she studied Ailie. The other girl had something about her that just shouted 'sophisticated', something that Hermione could never achieve. 'You're so... pretty. So together. People would look at you and admire you, think you're an attractive woman. People look at me, and they see a frowdy girl.' She hung her head, slightly ashamed of the admission to the other girl. Oh, come on, Hermione, she thought. How pathetic can you be? She took a breath and looked up. 'I guess I'd just like to be able to look a bit more like you do, that's all.'  
  
Ailie leant back and surveyed Hermione, a critical look on her face. 'You are very pretty, you know. But I could show you some things to do, if you like.'  
  
A panic switch flipped in Hermione's brain. 'Oh, no. Lavander and Parvarti tried to make me over a few times when we were young. I am just not the sort to wear lots of makeup and spend hours in a bathroom worrying over my hair.'  
  
Ailie laughed. 'No, silly. Can you see me with makeup slopped all over my face? Ugh,' she said with a shudder. 'No thank you. But there are a few things that you can do, just to make you look a little more... female.' She pulled Hermione up, and looked around. 'Do you have a full-length mirror?'  
  
Hermione pulled out her wand and transfigured a cushion into a grand- looking mirror, while her friend rolled her eyes. 'Wizards,' Ailie said derisively.  
  
Ailie pulled Hermione in front of the mirror, and pointed at her clothes. 'Look. You wear these great big robes-' She pulled at Hermione's robe. 'They cover you up.'  
  
'That's good,' Hermione said.  
  
Her friend shook her head. 'No. Bad. See what I wear?' She pointed at her own clothing, a pair of trousers with a white shirt, open at the collar. Over it she wore a parted robe. 'Sometimes, just a little skin can be attractive. So can showing a little curve. I wear trousers because they feel comfortable, but they also show that I'm a woman, with some curvy bits. I'm comfortable, but I still feel like I look good.'  
  
Hermione studied her friend and had to agree. Ailie didn't look as if she was trying to attract attention, but she did look like an attractive woman.  
  
'And my hair,' said Ailie, directing Hermione's attention to the mirror once more. 'I wear it up, which keeps it out of my face, but it also shows my neck.'  
  
Hermione shrugged. 'Your hair looks good, but why are necks important?'  
  
Ailie snorted. 'Come on, Hermione. Necks are very sensual. Don't tell me you haven't looked at S- uh, a man you've been attracted to, and noticed their neck? A bare neck makes people think about what they'd like to do to that neck, like kiss it.'  
  
A random picture flitted through Hermione's mind, but she stomped it out before it could form. The insinuations Sirius and Ailie kept on making were taking their effect. Still, she reflected, Ailie could be right about necks.  
  
'So what do I do? I can't just dress like you,' she said.  
  
Ailie shook her head. 'You don't have to. I have a different style to you- if you dressed like me, you'd look strange.' She stood back and looked at Hermione again. Briefly, she stepped forward and lifted some hair from Hermione's face, and tugged at her robes.  
  
'This colour suits you,' she said. 'It's just that the robes are too bulky. Here,' she added, pulling here and there at her clothes. 'Can you do your wandy thing with this?'  
  
Hermione, understanding, took out her wand and magically adjusted her robes. Ailie gave her a few more directions, and soon Hermione found herself in fitted red velvet robes, clinging closely to her torso and arms to the waist and flaring out delicately to the ground. A short, high-necked collar opened at the neck to reveal a high-necked white linen shirt beneath, and starting from mid-thigh, the robe split open in the front to reveal a white linen skirt that peeked out daringly from her robes. Ailie made a few adjustments to her hair, pulling the sides back and letting the natural curls fall down her back. Hermione looked once more in the mirror, and felt like she was looking at a new woman.  
  
Ailie stood back and studied the changes. 'And now, just a touch of makeup would be appropriate. As it's a special occasion,' she said.  
  
Hermione led the way to her bathroom, where a few items of makeup spent their days in a bottom drawer. Ailie added a touch of blush to Hermione's pale cheeks, and put shiny gloss on her rosy lips.  
  
'There,' said Ailie, her voice all satisfaction.  
  
Hermione looked at herself. There wasn't too much of a change; she was still obviously herself- she doubted Harry or Sirius would feel the need to comment when they saw her. But the overlying impression was of a slightly attractive woman.  
  
Which was disheartening. If all it took was a few simple touches to make her look relatively pretty, why hadn't anyone even remotely seen her like that before?  
  
Ailie, sensing that the small makeover hadn't improved her friend's mood, ushered her out of the bathroom.  
  
'Come on, you. We still need to make your room pretty, you know.'  
  
With as much enthusiasm as she could muster, Hermione moved into the living area and began to summon up decorations with her wand.  
  
Shortly after, there was a knock at the door.  
  
'That'll be Harry,' Hermione said, standing on a chair to put up some particularly tricky holly bunches. 'Could you please get it?'  
  
Ailie nodded, and headed toward the door. Soon she was back, accompanied by a freshly-scrubbed looking Sirius. Hermione, having talked herself into a good mood for the past ten minutes, looked down to see genuine admiration in her old friend's eyes, and wondered. Ailie had teased that Sirius had a liking for her. Not that such a thing should be encouraged, but after such a downturn in mood as she had experienced since dinner, some healthy ego-boosting would be nice.  
  
Instead of letting her climb down by herself, Sirius reached up and, grabbing her by the waist, lifted Hermione from the chair, setting her down in front of him.  
  
'I want to talk with you,' he said, his tone mock-stern.  
  
Hermione looked around, and noticed that Ailile had made a discreet exit. 'About what?' she asked.  
  
Sirius smiled. 'You needn't act like you're facing a firing squad. Ailie's just told me that you seem to have some strange idea that you're unattractive, which greatly disturbs an old letch like me.'  
  
Hermione looked down, ashamed that her vulnerability should have been exposed in such a manner. 'It's not that big a deal,' she said softly. Regaining her voice, she looked up. 'Anyway, Ailie shouldn't have told you.'  
  
Sirius frowned at her. 'She was right to tell me. We can't have our lovely Hermione walking around thinking such things.' Hermione looked away, embarrassed, and Sirius touched her arm, making her look at him. 'You can't think that way, 'Mione, and I'm ashamed of myself for not pointing out sooner just what a beautiful young woman you are. If I weren't practically your uncle, I'd be after you myself.' Hermione half-smiled at his joke, then, looking into his eyes, realised he wasn't joking. 'You're a beautiful, attractive, intelligent woman, Hermione, and don't let anyone tell you differently.'  
  
Sirius reached out and smoothed a hair away from her face, and Hermione felt some of the worry from earlier in the evening melt. In any other situation, having a man tell her she was beautiful would have been horribly embarrassing. Having Sirius do it, however, and having him admit an attraction for her was somehow soothing. Instead of awkwardness, Hermione felt only gratitude for her friend's stark honesty.  
  
'Thank you, Sirius.'  
  
Sirius shared her smile. 'No problem. Although it is very hard work telling a lovely young girl just how alluring she is.' He raised an eyebrow. 'I'm afraid we can't begin our affair, however, as I have promised my heart to Ailie, here.'  
  
Hermione smiled and, turning, saw Ailie in the doorway, with a tray of nibbles, and Harry behind her.  
  
Harry walked toward her to receive a hug. 'I thought I'd practice an old tradition and raid the kitchens,' he said, nodding toward Ailie. Hermione looked closer at the tray and saw that it contained Pumpkin Pies By Surprise, a Weasley invention and one that had been popular at the Gryffindor table when they were students. Unlike many of the Weasley's inventions over the years, these pies had actually been quite pleasant. Beginning as pumpkin, each bite turned the pies into a new flavour, so that by the time someone finished, they could have consumed pumpkin, apple, blueberry, chocolate, caramel, lemon, pecan or even mincemeat pie; Neville had once, through careful biting, tasted as many as 27 flavours in one pie.  
  
Hermione's eyes lit up, and she smiled at her friend.  
  
'Harry, that was a brilliant idea! Do you think we should get some more?' she asked. The thought of food hadn't even crossed her mind.  
  
'I'm way ahead of you,' said Harry. 'I organised for the elves to bring in some more trays later.'  
  
Hermione nodded, and missed the speculative look on Harry's face as he looked at her. 'You look really nice tonight, Herm,' he said, in a thoughtful voice. Hermione nodded, her mind now occupied in thoughts of refreshment.  
  
'Thanks Harry. I'd better do some more work.' She rushed off, leaving Harry to stare at her.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
'I'm worried about Hermione,' Harry said as he wandered over to his godfather's side. Sirius put down the cup of mulled wine he was drinking and turned to his godson.  
  
'Really?' he asked, his expression unreadable. 'What do you think is wrong?'  
  
Harry frowned. 'She seems so strange, at the moment. Like tonight. She's so dressed up.' His expression grew even more serious, and he looked quickly over his shoulder. 'You don't think she's- she isn't going through some sort of crisis, is she? Ailie said Hermione's been having huge arguments with Snape-' here, Harry's eyes widened in disbelief, and he lowered his voice. 'Hermione never would have done that before. Snape's never got to her before. She smarter than that.'  
  
Sirius shook his head and smiled, confusing Harry further. The older man slipped his arm around Harry's shoulders, leading the younger man to the bowl of mulled wine.  
  
'Harry, Hermione is fine. She's just... er,' Sirius paused, apparently searching for words. 'She's just testing the waters.'  
  
Harry raised and eyebrow, and looked over to the subject of their conversation, now chatting happily to Professor McGonagall. The evening was progressing well; the teachers, though all decorum in front of their students, seemed to relish the opportunity for a little revelry. They had begun turning up soon after Harry and Sirius arrived, and the room was quite full now. Harry couldn't help noticing that little Professor Flitwick found ways to return to Hermione's side, and a couple of the younger teachers did their best to make conversation with her. Harry didn't know what it was, but something worried him about it; Hermione was just different, somehow.  
  
And Snape. The man himself stood near the window, looking as gloweringly unapproachable as possible. Undoubtedly Dumbledore had asked him to come along, Harry supposed, but Hermione, instead of just ignoring him as she should have done, seemed quite up to returning his occasional glares.  
  
Harry didn't think he was quite as dim as Ron when it came to perceiving Hermione's moods, but at the moment, he was stumped. It wasn't that she was behaving completely out of character. She just seemed a little... un-Hermione.  
  
Harry pushed the worry aside. He would have a chat with her later, and make sure everything was all right.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Ailie sidled up to Snape, a slightly deviant smile on her face.  
  
'Having fun?' she asked.  
  
Snape glared at her. 'Guess,' he said. Ailie's smile grew wider.  
  
'I don't know why you don't socialise a little more. You're friends with Sirius Black, aren't you? And you used to teach Harry- and you haven't even said hello to your hostess,' Ailie said, clicking her tongue and feeling gleeful.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow, and for a second, Ailie wondered if she'd pushed it too far. 'Sirius Black,' he said, 'is hardly one who can qualify under the term of 'friend.' Harry Potter is a simpering idiot of a boy that it has, yes, been my absolute displeasure to teach. And as for my hostess-' Snape leant a little closer and fixed Ailie in his stare. 'Hello. Now, go away.'  
  
Ailie's grin widened. 'My gods, you do have a sense of humour.'  
  
'I have to, working in this school,' he replied drily.  
  
'There you go again,' Ailie said. 'Now all you need is a drink and you'll be ready to join the party.'  
  
Snape looked at her for a moment. 'Ailie, while I do, indeed, feel the temptation to dull the boredom of this... affair with alcohol, I believe I will refrain.'  
  
Ailie gave him a contemplative look. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why he was here, but she knew that it would only take an impertinent question such as that, and he would leave. The temptation to tease him further was almost irresitible all the same. She was saved by Madams Pomfrey and Hooch, who cornered Snape about a recent article he had had printed in Ars Alchemica.  
  
Ailie silently moved away, before temptation became too great. She had been keeping an eye on Snape all evening for obvious reasons. She chuckled to herself. It was an interesting position to be in, knowing someone's desires before they had admitted them to themself. How long had this been going on? she wondered. Goodness knew, she had figured it out fairly early- she wasn't into girls, herself, and there could have been no other reason for that strangely familiar sensation whenever she looked at Hermione in a Snapish mood.  
  
Hermione's reaction to the news had been a little surprising, Ailie considered, but she respected Hermione's wishes to ignore the idea. She would be honest with herself soon enough, Ailie thought.  
  
As the evening grew late, Ailie judged it time to put their plan into action. Though their talk earlier in the day had shown Snape to be not quite the heartless, cruel being she had built him up to in her mind, and though it had given her more of an idea as to the motivation for his behaviour, Ailie still felt the need for some sort of payback. And, after all, a dream potion that would show him what he truly wanted was doing the old curmudgeon a favour, wasn't it?  
  
With a whispered word to Hermione, the two girls began preparing the cups that would contain the heated eggnog, the last drink of the evening. Hermione, ever willing to turn a plan into an opportunity for experiment, had, in the last few days, devised an ingenious way to distribute the potion. She had found a charm that would unlock certain properties of an instrument only for the intended bearer- it was, she said, a derivative of the elements in a wand that would only respond to their master. With a few alterations, Hermione had managed to adapt the spell to work on a cup, so that a substance on the cup could only be ingested by the object of the spell. They had tested it themselves, dipping a cup in sugar water and focusing the spell on Ailie. Both girls had drunk water from the cup, but only Ailie had tasted sweet water.  
  
All it had taken was something to link the spell to Snape, and that had easily been achieved by 'borrowing' one of his quills when he was out of his work-room (replacing it, of course, to remove any suspicion on his part). Now, each and every cup on the tray had a dose of the potion, as well as a drowsiness potion to prompt the victim to go to bed, spread on the rim. Those whose touch would not unlock the spell- in other words, everyone except Severus Snape- would drink a harmless cup of egg nog. It was a masterful plan.  
  
Ailie had seen Snape being forced into drinking a cup or two of mulled wine by his colleagues, so the sudden drowsiness should not cause any suspicion for him. Besides, it was Ailie's part of the scheme to make sure than any doubt in Snape's mind was quashed as soon as it entered it. She would need to concentrate.  
  
To top off the plan, Ailie would announce a toast just as Hermione handed the drinks around. Hopefully, Snape would be coerced into taking a cup without needing any mental nudges from Ailie.  
  
The plan was soon executed, and Ailie looked with satisfaction to see that Snape had been given a cup by Dumbledore himself. She felt a momentary twinge of guilt for having brought the old wizard unknowingly in on the scheme, knowing that he would be upset if he realised his part, but it was too late. She raised her own glass.  
  
'To a Happy Christmas, and sweet dreams for all,' she said. The others in the room heartily agreed, and downed their drinks.  
  
Soon, the room began to clear. Hermione waved goodbye to the last departing staff member, and Ailie flopped down on the couch. As Hermione returned, the girls shared a smile.  
  
'Now, we just have to sit back and wait,' Ailie said with a smirk.  
  
  
  
A/N: Next Chapter, Snape will finally begin to Get His. And boy, will he get his good. Sorry it's taken so long, but these characters keep on nattering on and I have to write down what they say, because it interests me. 


	12. Dreams and Desires

Disclaimer: Only the twisted little fantasies are mine.  
  
A/N: Okay, here 'tis. Hope you like it.  
  
Chapter Twelve Dreams and Desires  
  
  
  
Snape fought through the fog of sleep. He felt as though he was being smothered. The darkness around him enfolded him like an intangible blanket, dragging him down. He couldn't move his arms, couldn't fight against it. He was exhausted trying to fight it.  
  
With a jolt, wakefulness came to him. His brain was still overrun by the fuzziness of dreams, but his senses were wide awake.  
  
Slowly, he became aware of another presence in the room. Lying on his belly, he was unable to turn and look without showing he was awake; a mistake, in his experience. Best if your opponent thought you helpless.  
  
He sensed a figure standing by the bed, the other side to which his head was turned. A light pressure began on his bare back, a featherlight touch that trailed down his spine to the edge of the sheet, and back up again. He should have been fearful, he thought with the more alert regions of his brain, but for some reason he felt safe. The touch was not prompted by a will to do harm.  
  
He felt the figure lean closer, felt the warmth from another body as whoever it was leant over his head.  
  
'Severus,' a female voice whispered. Snape's forehead crinkled in a frown. He recognised that voice. Certainly not using that tone, but he knew...  
  
'Miss Granger?' he asked, turning his head sharply and attempting to sit up.  
  
A hand pressed down on his back, forcing him to lie down again. 'Tut, tut, tut, Severus,' she said.  
  
Snape peered through the darkness to the edge of the bed. It was indeed Hermione Granger, her willowy body encased in a white satin nightgown. The moonlight caught its glint, and bathed her milky skin in its glow, caressing her body. Snape looked at her in puzzlement. Though scantily-clad women were not entirely outside his night-time experience, they were certainly rare- not even one in the last five years- and definitely never an ex-student. There must be a problem, Snape thought, his logical faculties finally waking up.  
  
He tried to sit up once again. 'Miss Granger, is something wrong? Did Dumbledore send you?'  
  
Once again, the hand flat on his back pushed him down again, and Hermione shook her head. Snape realised just how warm that hand felt on his bare skin.  
  
'Bad, Severus. I did not give you permission to sit up, did I?' Hermione asked sweetly.  
  
Snape idly shook his head, his mind abuzz with confusion. This situation was surreal.  
  
'Miss Granger-' he bit the words off as the hand on his back began stroking his skin. 'Miss Granger, why are you here?'  
  
'Oh, Severus,' she purred, leaning closer to whisper in his ear again. He could feel the sweet heat of her breath brushing against his ear, and tried to stop a shudder in reaction. She might have been Hermione Granger, but he was a grown man, and she was, well, the stuff of dreams. As she leant forward, his whole view became encompassed by one perfect, satin- clad breast. She breathed over his ear again, and he bit his lip. 'Severus, in the circumstances, I believe you can call me 'Hermione.'' Her lips moved away from his ear and onto his neck, where she placed a gentle kiss.  
  
Snape shivered. Her intentions couldn't have really been clearer, but he wondered what had brought this on. It was possible that someone had placed the poor girl under a spell, as some sort of revenge. It would be both irresponsible and foolhardy to let her go on.  
  
'Miss Gr-' his words were cut off once more by a nip at the base of his neck. 'Hermione,' he growled. 'I don't know what has caused you to behave in this fashion, but I do believe that you are not currently responsible for your own actions. I think it could be best if I-'  
  
'Shh, Severus,' she whispered, placing a small kiss at the edge of his mouth that made him want to groan. 'I'm a grown woman, and I know what I want. You know what you want, too, don't you?' she asked, trailling her hand further down his back and squeezing his buttocks lightly. He bit his lip again, almost drawing blood. She had to pick exactly his weakest point. He opened his mouth to begin one last valiant attempt to dissuade her, but she shook her head.  
  
'No,' she said. 'I'm doing this because I want to, and so will you. There's no harm in not fighting it, just- for- one- night-' she began punctuating her words with kisses along his back, and Snape gave up his weak resistance. There was only so far a man could be pushed, and the whispered, 'Please,' she said in his ear was his undoing.  
  
She lay on the bed beside him, still forcing him to remain on his stomach, and began running her hands lightly over his back, stroking, touching. The tingling sensations her warm hands brought were pure torture.  
  
Though enjoying her ministrations, the doubt that such a beautiful young woman would be even remotely attracted to a man she evidently hated as much as himself still niggled at his conscious. Finally, he moved slightly, leaning on one elbow to grab her hand.  
  
'Why?' he asked, looking into her eyes. She returned his gaze without flinching.  
  
'Because I want you,' she replied frankly.  
  
As though seeing the doubt in his eyes, she leant forward and pressed her lips to his, her dainty little tongue flicking inside his mouth and stoking the flames of his desire. He moved, to deepen the kiss, and she pulled away, laughing.  
  
'Tut, tut, tut, Severus,' she repeated. 'Do you think I would just come in here, without wanting to torture you?' She smiled wickedly, and took his hand, tugging so that he fell flat on his belly once more. Leaning over him, she whispered an incantation, and Snape felt his arms being locked to the bed.  
  
Hermione climbed on top of him, the satin of her nightgown brushing and teasing his skin. With her hands and lips, she worked her way down to the base of his spine, torturing him almost beyond endurance. As the sheet slid down to his feet, Snape gave up the fight to keep silent, letting her skillful touches elicit moans and growls from his chest.  
  
Hermione once again straddled him, her nightgown pooled around her hips. *Oh, gods,* Snape thought as he felt the wetness between her thighs press against his skin. It was a sensation far beyond the erotic. She pressed her hips down, grinding herself against him, and Snape bucked and moaned, his hands gripping the sheets in desperation to keep control. Small, purely female sounds erupted from her throat, making his frustrated desire to touch her even stronger. The granite-hard length of his erection pressed into the bed as he strained against the weight of her on his back.  
  
She leant forward, and Snape felt the brush of her bare breasts on his skin. The sensation was almost too much. Just the thought of her beautiful, naked body squirming on top of his nearly drove Snape over the edge.  
  
Hermione bit and licked his neck, adding to the wetness on his skin. 'Oh, Severus,' she moaned, running her hands along his sides. 'I want you so much. Just the thought of having you inside me- I can't stand it- It just makes me want to-'  
  
Feeling her hips on top of him, feeling the mounds of her breasts pressing into his back, hearing the alluring words she whispered in his ear, painting tempting scenarios and confiding dark fantasies, Snape was pushed into climax.  
  
Drenched with sweat, his heart beating wildly in his chest, Severus Snape woke into the empty darkness. He rolled over onto his back, ignoring the patch of wetness left on the bed behind him, frowning into the night.  
  
'Damn,' he muttered.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Ailie woke up with a start, her heart pounding. Whew. She had known that her link with Snape would cause at least a part of his dream to be transferred to her, but hadn't dreamed that it would have been quite this... intense.  
  
The first rays of the winter dawn peeked in through the curtains, and Ailie stretched. Well, there was no chance of any further sleep after that highly disturbing experience, she reflected, and sat up.  
  
Her body was still tingling with the remains of Snape's arousal. It was a very strange sensation, experiencing another's emotions this strongly. Of course, she had shared this link with her parents, and one or two friends in her coven, but somehow Snape's wizard blood had shifted the chemistry in her own, so that the link faded in and out, more like bad wiring than anything. But boy, when they were connected, they were connected.  
  
Shivering, Ailie put on a nightgown and began pacing the room. So, their experiment had worked. Wow, had it worked. She remembered feeling Snape's shameful frustration, and shivered. This was far too odd. She needed something to take her mind away from this.  
  
Almost as though she had sensed Ailie's thoughts, Hermione's head appeared in the fireplace, smiling.  
  
'Happy Christmas!' she said. 'I was hoping you'd be up. Just a second, and I'll get your presents.' Her head disappeared, and soon the woman herself was in Ailie's living room, a bag of presents in her hand. Ailie was thankful that Hermione was wrapped up in a voluminous robe, fluffy slippers bordering on the ridiculous on her feet. If there had been a hint of silk, Ailie didn't know how she would have coped with the oddity of the situation.  
  
Hermione caught her looking at her strangely and looked down at herself.  
  
'What?' she asked with a frown. 'Have I put on odd socks or something?'  
  
Ailie shook her head, slumping down onto the couch. 'No.'  
  
'Then what?' Hermione put down her bag and sat next to her friend on the couch. 'What's wrong?'  
  
Ailie shook her head. 'Snape dreamt about you,' she said dazedly.  
  
'Oh. *Oh,*' Hermione said, her face paling. 'You don't mean that he-'  
  
Ailie looked at her. 'Oh, yes I do. I should know. I had to be there for it.'  
  
Hermione's face paled even further. 'No. This can't be true.'  
  
'It is, believe me.' Ailie, realising that the news was upsetting her friend, patted Hermione's hand. 'I wouldn't lie to you about this. You were in his dream. But I won't talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable.'  
  
Hermione stared at the fireplace for a moment, and her face calmed. 'No, I think I'm okay. And you obviously need to talk about it.' When she looked back at Ailie, the other girl was amused to note the curiosity in her eyes. So Hermione's interested, is she? she wondered.  
  
'Well,' she began, cautiously. 'You sort of- seduced him.'  
  
Hermione's eyes were wide. 'You mean he dreamt that he and I-'  
  
Ailie shook her head. 'No... not really. You sort of just... kissed him. On his back. You didn't even touch, you know, anything. But he was very- well, he liked it very much.' Ailie wondered how much detail she should go into with the sexually innocent girl. She didn't want to scare her.  
  
A contemplative look came over Hermione's face. 'He liked me touching him?' she asked.  
  
Ailie smiled. 'More than liked it. All you had to do was lie on top of his back and nibble on his ear a bit and he-' she stopped, seeing Hermione blush. 'Well, anyway, I thought you might feature in his dream, but I didn't know it would be quite that much. It was pretty full-on,' she said. Hermione looked at her with concern.  
  
'Did you- were you, you know, really drawn in- were you-'  
  
Ailie laughed at her friend's stuttering. 'No, don't worry, I'm not about to jump you because I've got the hots for you. It was more like...' she paused, searching for a way to put it into words. 'It was more like being in the room, and knowing exactly how he felt, without feeling it myself. Still,' she added with a grimace, 'I could do without a repeat performance.'  
  
Hermione again looked thoughtful. 'This doesn't mean that you and Sirius were right, you know,' she said. 'It's possible that the subconscious-'  
  
Ailie held up a hand to cut her off. 'Hermione, face it, the man's got the serious hots for you. I've known it all along, and after last night, he knows it too. I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to ravage you over the breakfast table. He'll certainly want to,' she added, in a thoughtful tone, and smiled. The bonus side of their prank was beginning to surface in her mind. Snape would be one frustrated bunny this morning, she knew.  
  
Hermione remained quiet for the rest of the morning, as they each opened their presents and drank some tea. After an hour's comfortable companionship, Ailie felt more calm, and was delighted when Sirius and Harry barged in. The four of them spent an enjoyable early morning before heading down to the traditionally late Christmas breakfast.  
  
Ailie noted that Hermione put a little more care into her appearance that morning, putting her hair up into a loose bun and adjusting her deep green robes to fit more snugly. The effect was graceful and alluring, and Ailie thought she perceived a secret smile on her friend's face as they headed down to breakfast.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Hermione determinedly kept her eyes to her own part of the table as she ate her morning meal. She was not, she told herself, even remotely interested to see how Severus Snape looked this morning. She was not interested to see if he had looked at her. She did not want to know if he had trouble concentrating on his breakfast. And she especially had no interest to see if there was any admiration in his gaze for her newly-adjusted outfit.  
  
Still, she couldn't keep some thoughts from her mind. Just what, she wondered idly, did it feel like to have a man run his hands over a bared neck? Exactly how did it feel to feel the raspy stubble on a man's chin as he kissed you?  
  
The last boy she had kissed had been, well, a boy. In fact, she remembered, the last boy she had kissed had been Ron. What a thought. It had been a year after she had broken up with Viktor, and she and Ron had been bored. Harry wasn't around, they'd had the common room to themselves, and so they'd snogged like the couple of teenagers they were for an hour or two. It had been fun, but nothing that had elicited a repeat performance from either of them, and it had marked the end of Ron's crush on her. Luckily, they had been unaffected enough by it for their friendship to remain free of awkwardness, and as far as Hermione knew, she and Ron were the only ones with knowledge of it.  
  
Had it really been that long since she'd kissed someone? Been kissed by someone? The thought was more than depressing. There had been a couple of boys who would probably have been willing, but she had always shied away. She didn't want to be kissed just because a boy was looking for something to do, she wanted to be kissed because... Hermione frowned. She didn't really know. But whenever she  
  
thought of Severus Snape dreaming about her, she knew what she didn't want. She definitely did not want curiosity kisses; she wanted need.  
  
A small smile crossed her face, and, her guard down, she looked up. Her eyes met Snape's, though both looked away before anyone would have been aware that the moment had passed at all.  
  
Hermione stared steadily down at her plate, her mind working furiously. Don't think about that, she thought desperately. Whatever you do, don't think about that!  
  
Thus it was that Severus Snape ruined two breakfasts that morning.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape contemplated the bubbles in his coffee, counting them and doing anything but thinking about the ache in his groin, and the woman that had caused it.  
  
It was bad enough without looking at her, he thought to himself. From the moment he had awoken in the earlier hours of the morning, the slightest relaxation in his control over himself had resulted in great discomfort. Just the thought of her made his blood boil, and from a feeling far from anger; the three frigid showers he had had this morning were testament to that. They had failed in their purpose, however, because every time he dried himself off he became aware of the scratch marks on his shoulders which were a very tangible reminder of his dream. And every time he remembered them, he remembered the ferocity, the pure wantonness of his dream Hermione...  
  
Hermione. There we go again, he thought. Even the thought of her name set his over-active pulse to racing.  
  
The dream had been so unbelievably intense. So real. So real, in fact, that he could almost smell her on his skin. Though he realised now that it had not really been Hermione Granger in his room last night, merely a fantasized creature of his under-used libido, he could not prevent his body from reacting to the real Hermione just as if it was she who had left him panting and starved for her last night.  
  
He clenched his fists and looked down at the toast he had failed to take a bite of. Every time he thought of eating, he wanted to look up and watch Hermione. She was eating a bowl of cereal, he knew, and the last time he had looked up there had been a droplet of milk still on her perfect, rosy lip...  
  
This really was getting ridiculous.  
  
When he felt able to stand without embarassing himself, Snape pushed back from the table and strode from the room without a word. Luckily, his colleagues were used to such behaviour. Usually, however, it wasn't as warranted as it had been this morning.  
  
That... dream. It had come from out of nowhere. Though a healthy man, it was rare that Snape's dreams were focused on a pleasant topic. If one could call such torture pleasant, he thought. Waking up this morning had been hell. If his dream-Hermione had wanted to torture him, as she had promised, she had certainly done an excellent job.  
  
Wait a second. Snape paused, mid-stride. That thought struck a chord. Something about wanting to torture him was not just a memory from the dream. It was a thought on the edge of his mind. Though he couldn't quite grasp it, he was familiar with the sensation. Ailie.  
  
That dratted girl. After all their talking of yesterday she had formulated some sort of plan- he didn't know the details, but he was beyond certain that that tortuous dream had been that Wiccan wench's doing.  
  
With an evil glower on his face, Snape swept back toward his rooms. First some soothing potion, he believed, and then time to find Ailie. She would pay dearly for his discomfort. 


	13. Severus Snape's Christmas

Chapter Thirteen  
  
  
  
Ailie smiled at what Mr. Granger was saying. Though Hermione had talked about a growing distance between herself and her parents, Ailie could see that the Grangers still loved their daughter dearly. Why else would they bravely put up with a magical castle that had moving stairs that so obviously terrified them, oddly dressed people that they had trouble understanding sometimes, and a system of travel that made them feel ill for hours afterward?  
  
This Christmas, though so different to the ones she was used to, was going wonderfully. The Grangers had been due to arrive mid-morning, and the group of friends had gone down to the entranceway straight after breakfast to await them. When the coach had trundled up and the pale-faced Grangers ushered out of it, the three other visitors had left Hermione to minister to her parents' queasiness (easily solved with a potion, Mum) and let them spend some time together. To pass the time, the three of them had gone for a walk.  
  
'I'm worried about Hermione, Ailie,' Harry had said as they wandered over the grounds. Sirius, feeling the need to expend some pent-up energy, had transfigured to his animagus state and was currently romping about in the snow.  
  
Ailie had given Harry a curious look, which had prompted the boy to continue.  
  
'She's just not herself lately. Last night, I wondered if there was something wrong, but this morning I know there must be. Hermione only ever gets that preoccupied when there's something serious on her mind. Do you have any ideas?'  
  
Ailie shook her head slowly. 'Not... really, Harry. Hermione's just, well, just sorting some things out right now. I'd talk to her if you really are concerned.'  
  
Harry nodded. 'I thought so. It's just,' he added with a frown, 'sometimes Hermione gets into these moods and she won't tell me things. I wanted to make sure she's okay.'  
  
'She is, Harry,' Ailie replied with a smile. 'Really. She's just trying to figure out some things. She's really okay.'  
  
'Good.' Harry nodded.  
  
Soon, with Sirius back in human form, the three of them were heading back toward Hermione's rooms, and the six of them sat down for some relaxing conversation before dinner.  
  
Ailie nodded again, and smiled. Though Hermione said her parents were boring, Ailie found it fascinating to talk with this 'dentist'. Tooth problems were solved in her coven by the Healer and several private rituals, and Ailie was fascinated by this muggle method of repairing teeth.  
  
'So you really make a fake tooth?' she asked, making the older man laugh.  
  
'You sound like Mr. Dumbledore. He asked the exact same thing when I first met him.'  
  
Ailie smiled, and looked around the room. It certainly was a cosy picture. Hermione, Harry and Sirius were chatting to Mrs. Granger across the room, and the day seemed to just be rolling along. Ailie had asked Hermione if her parents were likely to enjoy the solstice ritual to be performed that afternoon, but at Hermione's dissent, had stuck to the idea of performing it by herself. It would have less effect if non-Wiccans were to join in, anyway.  
  
Dinner was an informal but happy affair. Sitting with the happy group, Ailie was reminded of times when she had feasted with her own family on such days. The sadness for her parents was with her as an unceasing ache in her stomach, carried around with her every day. Being able to talk the day before had helped, but there was really no remedy. Ailie simply didn't know what to do to make the pain go away- but perhaps performing the familiar ritual would at least make it feel as though they were close.  
  
After the meal was over, Ailie excused herself, and walked down the quiet halls toward a small side door she had found in her travels. The castle was unusually quiet, and Ailie supposed that the rest of the inhabitants were still at their luncheon.  
  
Strolling, clearing her mind for the ritual, Ailie breathed in the crisp air. The snow clung to her skirt, but she smiled. All weather was good weather to a Wiccan.  
  
When she reached a suitably high and clear spot, she searched around for the instruments she'd need. Wiccan rituals, unlike wizard magic, used only what the earth supplied, and all this process required was a handful of earth and a dead twig.  
  
Her searching hands finally grasped a twig hidden beneath the snow, and she smiled. All was good.  
  
Turning to face the sun, she began speaking in her own language, the language of her coven. These words are sacred words, she said. These songs are sacred songs. Mother earth, replenish us. Bring us back to life once more. Breathing in the dormant life of the earth around her, Ailie brought one hand to her lips and blew over the handful of dirt. With her other hand, she brought the twig together with the dirt, her eyes carefully watching for the first sign of life.  
  
When nothing happened, she tried again, again breathing in and blowing over the earth, again waiting. Again nothing. A spear of pain shot through her chest, making her gasp. Desperately, she tried again, with the same lack of results. Tears filled her eyes, her breath coming in sobs.  
  
'Please work,' she whispered to the barren earth, but it did not listen.  
  
Suddenly, Ailie felt a touch at her shoulder, and jumped. Dumbledore smiled at her, a harmless old man out in the snow for a walk.  
  
'May I help?' he asked.  
  
Ailie began to shake her head in the negative, but changed her mind. It could not hurt, and Sirius had said that the people of Hogwarts were her coven now...  
  
Nodding her head, she held her hand up, showing the old wizard the dirt.  
  
'You have to-' she began, but was cut off as Dumbledore began to say the sacred words. Her eyes wide, Ailie added her voice to his. Dumbledore brought his hand together with hers, adding to the power of the ritual. When the time was right, both breathed over the earth and the twig.  
  
Ailie watched. Her breath caught in her throat as the first telltale glow showed in the handful of earth. Slowly, she felt her other hand being tugged toward it as the twig was drawn to its natural place in the earth. She let it go, and tendrils of green wrapped themselves over the twig as it buried itself in her hand. Before her eyes, a small tree sprouted, shooting forth new leaves into the world.  
  
Ailie planted the new little tree in the hole from whence she had gathered the soil, and stood back. In the next few days, the tree would grow, to be ready to bear its bounty by spring.  
  
She turned to Dumbledore, her eyes brimming.  
  
'Thank you,' she whispered. The old wizard smiled, and for a moment his eyes glowed. Ailie was taken aback by the power she saw there. Then his arms opened, and he wrapped her in a hug.  
  
'Your coven is wherever you are, my child,' he said. Ailie nodded.  
  
She sniffed, and pulled back. Wiping a few escapee tears from her cheeks, she took the old man's proffered arm feeling something that she thought she never would again- pure joy.  
  
On her way back to Hermione's rooms, after a cup of tea with the Headmaster, Ailie's path was blocked by a very tangible amount of Snape.  
  
'Yes?' she asked, fixing him with a gleeful gaze. Earth rituals always put her on a high, and in the rush of the afternoon she had forgotten to revel in Snape's frustration. It was not coming back to her, however.  
  
'You. My office. Now,' he said, turning and beginning to stalk down the hall.  
  
'Are you sure you don't want me to get Hermione?' she asked, laughter bubbling over. Snape stopped, and fixed her with a stare that would kill a rabbit, but it failed to impress her. Ailie just laughed all the more merrily.  
  
Snape snapped his fingers, and Ailie felt herself propelled forward, her feet sliding over the floor, bringing her face to face with Snape.  
  
'My office. Now,' he again said, his voice dangerously low. Ailie shrugged, though inwardly a little fearful. Snape was certainly angry, she could sense that; she could also sense that he was doing his best to control it. Interesting.  
  
Ailie followed the angry man down to the dungeons, slipping into a seat in front of his desk when he ushered her inside his office.  
  
Snape strode over to his desk, his expression cloudy. Leaning against the wall behind his desk, with his arms crossed, he stared at Ailie with a raised eyebrow, content to let the silence between them stretch taut.  
  
Ailie shifted uncomfortably. She knew what he was doing, but it didn't make his silent stare any less intimidating. Frustrated, she cleared her throat.  
  
'So, what do you want, Snape?' she asked.  
  
He glared at her. 'Explain.'  
  
Ailie rolled her eyes. 'Explain what?'  
  
Snape tilted his head, his expression sarcastic. 'I think you know. What I would like to know is your reason for behaving in such a childish and potentially dangerous manner.'  
  
'I don't know what you're talking about.'  
  
Snape sneered. 'Don't attempt to deny it. I know. You told me yourself.'  
  
Ailie's eyebrows raised. 'Then you should know why.'  
  
'Some scheme of revenge, no doubt,' Snape said in a dry voice. 'A prank. After our talks of yesterday I would have supposed you intelligent enough to grasp the difficulties of our mutual situation. In fact, I do seem to remember an agreement to, and I quote, 'leave each other alone.'' Snape stared at her silently, and again Ailie felt the need to break the tension. Besides, her conscience pricked her. He did have a point in bringing up their apparent truce.  
  
'Well, I couldn't very well put it off,' she said. 'We'd been planning it for weeks-'  
  
Snape cut her off. "We?" he asked, his tone suspicious. 'Who?' Ailie clamped her mouth shut. There was no way she was going to tattle on Hermione- who knew what Snape would do to her. Snape's expression became contemplative, and a sudden flash of perception appeared in his eyes. 'Ah,' he said, his expression knowingly evil. 'Miss Hermione Granger. She had a hand in this too, did she?' He narrowed his eyes, and began to stalk about the room. 'Of course. She has the knowledge to research dream potions. She would be intelligent enough to administer it without my knowledge. She was always the brains of the Potter/Weasley outfit, I know.' Ailie stared at him in wonder. Was that a touch of admiration in his voice? Snape whipped around, staring at her. He raised an eyebrow.  
  
'Do not think that you will get off this lightly,' he said. 'Administering a potentially harmful potion to someone without their permission is a serious matter, and one, I think, that Albus Dumbledore would not be particularly pleased about; to hear that a guest of his, taking advantage of his hospitality to poison a member of his staff.'  
  
Ailie paled. After her conversation with the old wizard this afternoon, she was far from wanting to appear ungrateful. Besides, being unfamiliar with wizard law, she didn't know exactly how far beyond the boundaries she and Hermione had gone. The last thing she needed was to be hauled off to Azkaban.  
  
'I believe we can come to some sort of arrangement,' Snape said, his voice thoughtful. He sat down at his desk and looked at her over his steepled fingers. 'I am without an assistant, and need some help in reorganising my stores for the new term. From tomorrow, until I feel you have made amends, you will report to me every day and assist me in my duties. Your tasks will not be too taxing, I am sure,' he added with a mirthless smile. 'Simply cataloguing stores, cleaning cauldrons and scrubbing desks. Occasionally, I may ask you to assist me in my own potions experiments.' He took a breath and sat back, looking at her with hooded eyes. 'If you agree to this, I feel there will be no need to go to Dumbledore about your's and Miss Granger's own... experiments.'  
  
Ailie glared at him. In return for his silence, he was expecting her to become his slave. 'And Hermione?'  
  
A grim smile plastered itself across Snape's face. 'Oh, I wouldn't worry about her if I were you,' he said. 'Miss Granger will find out in due course the consequences of playing about with potions.'  
  
Ailie suppressed a shudder, suddenly piteous of Hermione. She thought of her own punishment with greater relish than living in expectation of this dark wizard's revenge.  
  
She nodded. 'Okay, I accept. But you have to promise not to be too tough on Hermione. After all, it was my fault.'  
  
Snape gave a short laugh. 'Miss Granger is well aware that there are repercussions for acting like a child. She had her part in this, and she knows me better than to expect to escape punishment.'  
  
Ailie couldn't prevent the grin that suddenly spread across her face. Snape glared at her, and she knew she was risking exacerbating his anger, but she couldn't resist a tease.  
  
'Oh, yeah, she knows about you and punishment all right,' she said, before breaking into laughter.  
  
For a second, Snape looked as though he was about to explode with anger, but his expression gradually calmed to resignation.  
  
'I do not suppose that there is any hope that you are referring to something other than the... events of last night?' he asked, in a resigned voice.  
  
Ailie laughed harder, but tried to calm herself. 'Not if you mean having Hermione-' She giggled again, set off by the thought of Snape's discomfort.  
  
Snape held up a hand. 'No.' He rubbed his forehead, and muttered, 'Curse it all.'  
  
Ailie took a few deep breaths, calming down. 'Look, it wasn't exactly my idea of a good time, either. I mean, I knew that I'd hear something of it, but really...' she made a face. 'Anyway, I guess I asked for it. I knew you'd dream about Hermione, but I didn't think it'd be so-'  
  
Snape again cut her off. 'You knew what about Miss Granger?'  
  
Ailie rolled her eyes. 'Come on. You've been lusting after her for months, I bet. Certainly since I arrived.'  
  
Snape's face paled. 'You,' he said coldly, 'are mistaken.'  
  
'Hell, no, I'm not,' Ailie said, smiling. 'And for you to be still be resisting it this morning speaks for your amazing self-denial capabilities.' Feeling the conversation was over, she rose. 'I suppose I will see you later, Snapey-poos,' she added, as she walked toward the door. Snape, a contemplative expression on his face, paid her no attention.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
As the door closed behind Ailie, Snape once again cursed the day that his blood had mingled with hers. With her around, there was not even a hope that he could imagine his privacy intact. She seemed bent on reminding him that she was aware of his every thought.  
  
The idea that she had witnessed that dream... the only consolation was that even she was unlikely to relate its details to anyone else. Surely he had put enough fear into her to prevent it, even if she lacked the decency to keep such a private event to herself.  
  
The mere thought of it... If Hermione Granger ever happened to find this out, Snape had to admit he would be fairly well mortified. Her status as a colleague and ex-student of his aside, the idea that he could lust after someone he had first met as an eleven-year-old child completely ignored, the situation would still be horrifying for the girl. Little as he liked to acknowledge it even to himself, Snape feared what such a pretty young woman would think of him. Oh, he knew she hated him, that was plain. He rarely ran into any other type of person, and his indifference to such attitudes was firmly in place. He knew that her experiences as a student had firmly placed him as 'enemy' in her mind, and he had no regrets. The famous threesome of Gryffindors had been intolerable in their lack of respect for school rules and regulations, and had deserved more than what they had received in way of punishment.  
  
But while Hermione, perhaps understandably, would hold on to an image of a hated teacher, Snape was capable of accepting that children grow. It was a conclusion impossible not to come to for a teacher; the children in his care grew under his gaze, changing and developing into adults. He may not have liked all of them, but he did notice.  
  
Hermione Granger was, now, a grown woman, and he was able to appreciate the change from the know-it-all child that had haunted his classrooms, nagged him for better grades on his assignments and, yes, broken into his stores several times for forbidden ingredients for her various experiments. She was still a know-it-all, she was still annoying, and she still had a tendency to value her own doubtful judgement and disrespect his, but Snape was willing to admit she had developed some admirable qualities. Some intelligence, though not always used to its full capacity. Skill at potions; his current discomfort was testament to that. An enquiring mind, which was always an asset to be valued, especially when it led to the results that Hermione usually produced. A tendency, of late, to stand up to him when threatened, admirable only because it was so rarely he came across an equal in debate. Yes, there were some aspects of her personality he valued, though they did not quite make up for the aspects that grated on his nerves.  
  
Snape sighed, and leant his head in his hands. This situation was ridiculous. He did not know why Hermione Granger had been in his dream last night, but he could not stop thinking about her. He had to figure out exactly what potion the girl had used; perhaps that would provide some answers. Surely she had not purposely made a potion that would force him to dream about her; she hated him, after all, and for some reason Snape felt she would be too sexually innocent to want such a thing. The thought of the dream-Hermione returned to him, controlling and alluring, torturing him with his need for her. Snape clenched his teeth. If Hermione had, indeed, designed the potion with knowledge of its effect, and given it to him in the hope of torturing him, she could not have designed better. He despised the fact that he was constantly weak with desire.  
  
He thought back to the previous evening. Hermione had ignored him on the most part, content to chat with her friends and one or two other teachers. Her behaviour had been similar this morning; apart from that one moment, she had not spared so much as a glance in his direction. Such behaviour, Snape felt, did not indicate an intent to tease him sexually. He was certain that such an effect had not been her intention in making the potion.  
  
Snape leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. He did not quite know how Hermione Granger would be punished, but punish her he would. Though the girl had seemed to find her voice lately, she had to learn that he was as nasty as ever, when provoked.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Hermione waved her parents off, and watched the coach all the way to the gate. The day, as far as they were concerned, had been a success. She was glad she had had the idea of holding Christmas at Hogwarts. It had brought her parents closer to her life, and she hoped they now felt a part of it.  
  
She walked back to her rooms, deep in thought. It had been an interesting day. Ailie had returned just before the Grangers had been due to leave, and Hermione was glad that they had a little more time to get to know each other. Her father had particularly taken a shine to Ailie, and for that Hermione was especially glad. Ailie had tried to tell her something about Snape when she came back, but Hermione had been too busy to really pay attention. Now, she wondered what it had been, but Ailie had again disappeared, presumably out walking with Harry before he and Sirius left this evening.  
  
The mention had brought a certain topic back to her mind, however. She'd never really thought about it before, but when it came to men, her experience was zero. She'd never had the chance. And being around Ailie made her feel even more of a baby.  
  
Hermione got up and paced restlessly. She knew that having Severus Snape dream about her was something she should be disgusted by. If Harry or Ron ever found out, they'd be horrified for her. Still, she couldn't help wondering certain things; what did he think about her? Did he really find her attractive? What, exactly, had happened in the dream? What had she done to him? What had he done to her? Hermione may have been inexperienced, but she knew the theory of sex, and she was itchingly curious about this man that had pictured her in such a way.  
  
She wondered if she would ever know these things. It was unlikely that her sexual experience would be expanded at Hogwarts. She giggled at the thought of kissing any of the male teachers- it was simply ridiculous. Most of them still treated her like a girl, with the exception of Snape. He, at least, treated her as a woman, and that had been before the potion. She still doubted that he could really be attracted to her, though; even if he was, the Snape she knew would never act on it. So her life at Hogwarts would be just as innocent as it had always been.  
  
Hermione almost despaired. Would she always be such a child? It wasn't that she wanted to go out and bed the first man she saw, but not having even kissed a man before her twentieth birthday- that was ridiculous.  
  
Hermione ceased her pacing when she heard a knock at the door. Opening it to find Sirius, preparing his goodbyes, she suddenly struck upon a solution to her problem.  
  
'Sirius,' she said determinedly. 'I want you to kiss me.'  
  
Sirius contemplated her for a moment. At least, Hermione thought, he wasn't dim witted and likely to misunderstand her wishes. She watched as one eyebrow raised.  
  
'And what exactly has brought this on?'  
  
'Does it matter?' she asked, resuming her earlier pacing. 'Sirius, my twentieth birthday is in four months and I have yet to be kissed by a man. Do you know when my last kiss was?' She turned on him, but noticing the sparkle in his eye, she decided not to elucidate. 'Well, that's beside the point. I'm nineteen, and don't know what it's like to even feel a beard against my face!'  
  
'It's itchy,' Sirius said, rubbing his own beard. He caught Hermione's grim look and ceased his teasing. 'Look, Hermione, I'm not sure this is a good idea-'  
  
'I'm not asking you to marry me!' Hermione yelled, throwing her hands up in frustration. 'All I want is for a grown man to kiss me. I thought you fit the bill. Unless,' she said, looking at him uncertainly, 'you couldn't bear to- I mean, you would probably have trouble kissing such a stupid girl- '  
  
Sirius shook his head at her, and walked closer. 'Darling, no grown man could possibly have trouble wanting to kiss you.' With that informal agreement, he placed one hand under her chin and brought his face down to hers.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes as his lips met hers. Cautiously, she raised a hand and placed it on his chest, feeling the thudding of his heart beneath her palm. She could feel the bristles of his beard tickling her face, could feel the warmth of his body so close to hers. After a brief but evocative kiss, Sirius raised his face from hers and looked down at her.  
  
'Better?' he asked.  
  
Dumbfounded, Hermione nodded. Slowly, she smiled. 'Thank you, Sirius,' she said.  
  
Sirius smiled warmly down at her. 'Don't think about it. It was an honour to be the first man to taste those gorgeous lips of yours.'  
  
The two stood in silent contemplation for a while, but moved apart when Harry unceremoniously stamped through the door.  
  
The boy took in the close proximity of his two friends and, being relatively preceptive, blushed. 'Oh, sorry!' he said, turning to go again.  
  
'Never mind, Harry,' Sirius called, walking forward to stop him. 'I was just saying goodbye to Hermione. I'll meet you in the entrance hall.'  
  
A slightly awkward silence sprung up between the two friends as Sirius left, and Hermione was the first to take the situation into hand.  
  
'Have a seat, Harry,' she said, moving toward the couch.  
  
Harry sat, and contemplated her with a frown. 'What's going on, 'Mione?'  
  
Hermione took a deep breath, and began to tell Harry about how she had been feeling since she returned to Hogwarts, leaving out nothing but Ailie's true identity, and certain events concerning Snape. She talked, though a little embarrassed, about her feelings over the past few days, her worries. Harry was looking at her with concern when she finished, and Hermione was feeling more than a little silly.  
  
'Hermione, why didn't you tell me about this before? You know I would have...' He trailed off. 'Well, I would have been here for you, at least.'  
  
Hermione smiled. 'I know you would. I just- I needed something else.' She looked down. 'I guess you don't understand.'  
  
Harry sat silently for a moment, then Hermione felt his hand on her arm. 'I'm sorry, Hermione. You've always been beautiful to me,' he said.  
  
Hermione looked up at him, a warm smile spreading across her face. 'Thanks, Harry.' She stood up and gave him a hug, this child-friend who had somehow grown up into a sensitive and caring man.  
  
'You're not... you're not going to get together with Sirius, are you?' Harry asked.  
  
Hermione laughed. 'No!'  
  
Harry pulled back, and nodded. 'Good. That would just be too weird.'  
  
Hermione walked with him to the door, her mind back on Severus Snape. She was glad Harry didn't know quite how weird the situation was. 


	14. Snape's Revenge, or Hermione Gets Hers

Chapter Fourteen Snape's revenge, or Hermione Gets Hers  
  
  
  
The next few weeks passed uneventfully in Hogwarts. Students returned to their studies, professors returned to their classes, and Snape and Hermione returned to their squabbles.  
  
Ailie's 'punishment' had turned out to be a pleasant surprise. The girl had taken to wizard magic with zest, having been deprived of her own, natural magic. Her assistance in Snape's classroom had evolved into a grudging apprenticeship, as Snape realised that her existing knowledge of herbs and elements would only need a little supplementation to give her a good grounding in potions-making.  
  
It seemed Hermione and Snape argued almost as often as they could. To outside observers, they appeared unable to hold a civil conversation, one always provoking the other to anger- Snape usually initiating it. Only the most astute of observers would have noticed that they appeared to be enjoying it.  
  
There was one particularly astute observer keeping an eye on Hermione, and that was Snape himself. He had begun researching potions that would have the same effect as that which he had imbibed on Christmas Eve, and was not pleased with the results. The list had been narrowed down, but he was stuck because he did not know Hermione's true motivation in giving him the potion. Had she deliberately set out to provoke him in a sexual manner, or had she only wished to taunt him in a general way?  
  
From what he knew of Hermione Granger, and his breadth of knowledge was fairly wide, having not only taught her for seven years but having had her mischievous presence forced on him more times than he would care to remember, she was not the sort to deliberately attract a man. It simply didn't gel with the studious aspects of the girl, the annoyingly Gryffindor way she had of being up-front about her ideas and thoughts.  
  
However, her behaviour of late had changed somewhat. He was, through years of training, an observant man, and had noticed the changes in Hermione's wardrobe and behaviour. Her carriage was more that of a woman, now, less unsure. She wore her clothes with more sense of grace and style, and, consciously or not, was as a consequence more alluring. Why, the other evening, sitting on opposite sides of the fire in the staff room, Snape had noticed several of these changes at once. Hermione had sat with her chin resting on her hand, staring into the fire; an apparently innocent pose, but it had drawn attention to the graceful curve of her neck, revealed as it was when her hair was up. The collar of her blouse had been open, revealing just enough to tease the eye into wanting to see through the shadow cast by the shirt. Then, she had stretched, running her hands over her neck and into her hair, reaching up to stretch her shoulders. This movement had brought her robes tight across her chest, and it would have taken a stronger man than Snape was not to notice the curving lift of her breasts as she stretched and yawned.  
  
It was possible that these had been the actions of an innocent. He would be able to accept that more easily if it had merely been an isolated incident, but there had been other occasions. Once, he had caught Miss Granger watching him eat his soup, though she had immediately turned away from his glare. Another time she had seated herself at his side for a meal, and he had been forced to endure her delicate lips curving around a spoonful of syllabub. Yet another time, he had followed her to the library after catching her again on one of her late-night jaunts (only to annoy her, of course), and she had deliberately sat across the table from him, running her fingers up and down her neck in apparent contemplation of what she had been reading.  
  
Snape was by no means a vain man, and knew that it could be construed as stupid to assume Hermione's new awareness of the gifts of womanhood were aimed at him. However, his suspicions were aroused. There seemed to be too many coincidences.  
  
His own methods of research seemed to be bringing him no closer to an answer, so Snape decided the best path was to needle the information out of Ailie. Their work together had consolidated the truce between them, and the girl seemed to trust him, to a point. It would take careful questioning, done over a long period, to get the information he wanted, but Snape was a patient man. He could wait, and his revenge would be all the sweeter.  
  
Things progressed well, and soon Snape was able to discern that, while Ailie herself was uncertain of the makings of the particular potion used, the recipe lay in a book in Hermione's room.  
  
The obvious way to retrieve the book was to enter her room by stealth, and, as the wards on most Hogwarts doors were almost unbreakable, he would have to enter when the woman herself opened it. Snape managed to find out that Ailie and Hermione conversed in the latter's rooms most nights after dinner, and beyond that it was simply a case of deciding which night would be preferable.  
  
Snape knew there was a chance of discovery if Ailie discerned his motives or presence, but fortunately the girl had given him a bounty in the form of texts teaching methods of meditation. Hermione, Ailie said, had given them to her in the hope that their use might prevent some of the more serious effects of their soul-bondage, and according to Ailie, they had been relatively successful. Grasping at any way to regain the privacy of his own head, Snape had studied the texts and added a few methods of his own. Now, the psychic link between them seemed manageable, and could almost be blotted out with concentrated effort.  
  
So it happened that one evening, Snape, always keeping a careful eye on the two girls, slipped out of the Great Hall almost directly behind them and, feeling carefully behind a gargoyle he had discovered earlier, pulled out and donned his invisibility cloak. Following silently behind them, Snape stalked Ailie and Hermione through the corridors to Hermione's rooms.  
  
It was a matter of simple agility to slip in the door before it closed itself, and Snape found himself for the second time ever in Hermione's rooms. He watched as the two girls pottered around preparing tea, and as they settled down in front of the fire. As they did so, Snape grimaced. This was the part of his plan that he decidedly did not like; in order to remain unnoticed, he would need to stay until the two women retired for the evening, search Hermione's bookshelves, and depart when she opened the door the next morning. That would mean listening to their insipid girlish conversation until they decided they had had enough for one evening; it would be much longer, he surmised, than his tolerance could reasonably bear.  
  
Snape leant against a wall and prepared for the interminable wait.  
  
He attempted to ignore their quiet chatter for all of ten minutes, when he heard his own name mentioned. His interest piqued, Snape gave up his feeble attempts.  
  
'I just can't understand his motives,' Ailie was saying, her face puzzled. 'He's almost being nice to me at the moment.'  
  
A small smile crossed Hermione's face. 'Well,' she said, 'he does have a selfish motive. The better you feel, the easier his life is, at least until we can find some sort of remedy for you two.'  
  
'There is none,' Ailie said despondently. 'Trust me.'  
  
'There has to be something,' said Hermione, a stubborn look crossing her features. She got up and crossed to the fire, a frown of contemplation on her brow. For a microsecond, her eyes flashed across the place where Snape leant, and a brief spike of alarm darted through his chest. The moment passed, however, and Snape reminded himself that he was beyond her powers of perception. Hermione's eyes rested back on Ailie.  
  
'I think we need to visit the libraries in London before I can go any further,' Hermione said, sitting back down next to her friend. 'There are quite a few new texts on the power-of-the-mind research being conducted in Florida. Besides, it will be good to show you some of muggle London, and you'll get to meet Ron.'  
  
Ailie smiled. 'Yes, I would like to meet this 'Ron.' Harry told me quite a few tales about him.' Snape saw Hermione's bright smile, and rolled his eyes. Of course. Weasley. The red-headed idiot had been slavering after Hermione for years. An interesting sparkle crossed Ailie's eye, and Snape paid more interest. Ailie smiled slyly. 'Sirius told me a few things about Ron, too.'  
  
Hermione looked at her friend, puzzled, and Ailie's smile grew wider. 'Apparently you and Ron were especially bored one day...?' she said. Hermione closed her eyes and groaned.  
  
'Oh, no. He told Sirius.' She brought her hands to her temples, covering her eyes. 'Well, at least he was discreet about it. Harry would have had a breakdown, I swear. He was bad enough when he walked in on-' Hermione looked up, and shut her mouth firmly. Snape leant forward curiously. This conversation was incredibly revealing, but it was hardly his fault that two grown women decided to prattle on like children in front of him. The thought that he was the invader failed to cross his mind.  
  
Ailie's eyes widened. 'He walked in on what? When?'  
  
'No!' Hermione blushed.  
  
Ailie sat back, surveying her friend contemplatively. 'Hmm. It had to be recently, because you wouldn't be so embarrassed about it if I hadn't been here. And the only time Harry's been here since I came was Christmas. Hmm. Christmas...' She trailed off, and the blush on Hermione's cheeks grew to beet-red hue. A slow smile spread across Ailie's face, but she shook her head. 'No, it wasn't a certain Potions Master, because you would have told me, and Harry, I think, would have gone spare. It couldn't have been Harry himself, and the rest of the male teaching staff is unlikely, therefore I deduce... Sirius!'  
  
Snape, abandoning all pretence to himself of disinterest, had been following a similar logic path, though the conclusion shoved aside any musings on Ailie's interesting statement in the middle of her reasoning. His attention was caught by the last word. Black? Potter had caught Hermione with Black doing... what?  
  
'I knew I shouldn't have let you read my Sherlock Holmes collection,' Hermione mumbled, and Snape frowned. His jaw clenched as he watched Hermione's blush grow even hotter, and a little smile rest on her lips. Ailie laughed in a surprised fashion, and looked at Hermione incredulously.  
  
'You never told me that you and Sirius were- well, I don't know. What did you do? What happened?'  
  
Hermione looked at Ailie, sighed, and shrugged her shoulders. 'I just- ' she looked down. 'Well, I was just wondering- and I asked- and then Harry- ' She took a deep breath, embarrassment obviously halting her words. 'Well, Sirius isn't a bad kisser.' Her mouth clamped shut and Hermione looked steadily at the ground, obviously embarrassed as hell. Snape felt the nails of his hands digging into his palms. Ailie's smile couldn't get any wider.  
  
'Well, well, well. I knew he had a thing for you,' she said.  
  
Hermione shook her head. 'It wasn't like that.' She caught the look on Ailie's face and rolled her eyes. 'Oh, forget it.' Ailie laughed, and continued laughing when she caught Hermione's chastising look.  
  
'Oh, wow,' Ailie said breathlessly, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of an eye. 'Anyway, when will this London visit happen?'  
  
Hermione rubbed her temples. 'I don't know. I need to do some preparation with some of the students- there are a few that I'm tutoring in Potions-' Snape bit back a snort- 'and I need to summarise my research in the library, if only Snape will leave me alone long enough to get some actual work done.'  
  
Ailie's face once again assumed a knowing look. 'Our Potions professor has been keeping you up late of nights, has he?'  
  
Snape's ears perked up again. He had assumed that any conversation between these two girls would have to be tolerated rather than used as entertainment. Some of the remarks Ailie was throwing forth were very interesting indeed.  
  
Hermione glared at her. 'Ailie, I don't like what you're insinuating. Severus Snape has been, if anything, making more of a pest of himself than usual, and is preventing my research from continuing at a decent pace. At least in London, I won't have to worry about being watched over by that malignant bat!' A slight flush returned to Hermione's cheeks, and her lips compressed in anger. Snape was intrigued to hear himself described as a 'pest.' Obviously his intimidating demeanour no longer impressed Miss Granger.  
  
Ailie smiled widely. 'Don't get angry when you're the one wandering about at night when you know he's going to be prowling the corridors.' Snape raised an eyebrow. Hermione gasped.  
  
'I do not!' she said. 'He has no right to harass me simply because I need to work when things are peaceful-' She was cut off by Ailie's laughter, and glared at her friend. 'Stop it, Ailie. He hates me. The other night he sat directly opposite me for one and a half hours, glaring at me while I tried to work. Do you know how difficult it is to concentrate with someone staring at you like... that?'  
  
Ailie stopped laughing, but still smiled at Hermione. 'Hermione, I know it's difficult. You need to fight back.'  
  
'I don't know how you would fight back against that,' Hermione said, looking down. Snape briefly admired the charming portrait her figure made silhouetted against the couch. She bit her lip. 'How do I fight back when the only tactic he uses is that stare?' Her voice was low, and Snape had to strain to catch it. Hermione frowned. 'You don't know how horrible it can be. He makes me feel so self-conscious.' Snape raised an eyebrow. Well, that had been his exact intention, but he had thought Granger had gone beyond being intimidated by his tactics. She was obviously a better actress than he had given her credit for. He wondered exactly what else he should give her credit for.  
  
Ailie leant forward and patted Hermione's shoulder gently. ''Mione,' she said softly. 'We've talked about this before. You know what I would do.'  
  
Hermione's frown deepened and she shook her head. 'You know what I think, Ailie.'  
  
Snape pondered on the conversation for a while as the two girls sat quietly. Ailie had made several references that were very interesting indeed. Snape considered what her motives could be. He doubted that she knew he was in the room- he had worked hard to assure that that wouldn't happen, and he was a careful man- so her comments were unlikely for his benefit. Her remarks seemed to indicate that Hermione was either aware of his attraction to her, or... there was another reason, but Snape's logical mind shied away from considering it. The idea that a former student of his would be in any way attracted to him was beyond consideration, especially when it came to Hermione Granger. No.  
  
So Ailie had told Hermione about his... chemical reaction in her general presence. Snape's lip curled. The girl, no doubt, could hardly eat for the nausea. He let out a silent sigh. Well, he could not blame her. She had done nothing to warrant his unwilling observance, and she had every reason to despise him.  
  
This did, however, solve his dilemma as to her behaviour toward him over the past weeks. She was deliberately taunting him. There could be no other answer.  
  
Snape pursed his lips in thought. Around him, the two girls began to prepare to retire, putting away the tea things and tidying up in general. Snape noted in passing that Ailie left Hermione's apartments as the other girl retreated to her bed chamber- interesting, as Snape had imagined that the girls were sharing rooms. He stayed in the same position until Hermione's light was put out, thoughts churning around in his head. With a frown, he finally made his silent way forward, eyes searching the dimness of the sitting room for an appropriate bookshelf. He searched over the shelves in the room, but it didn't take long to assert that the book he was looking for was not there. A brief glance into the other room confirmed more bookshelves within. Snape stepped back from the doorway, considering. Entering Hermione's bedchambers would not be an invasion of her privacy because she would never know he was there. The risk of detection, however, would increase. It was a necessary evil.  
  
Snape avoided looking at the figure on the bed as he entered the chamber, heading directly toward the small set of bookshelves on the far wall. Though he felt no compunction in searching for the book that contained the potion, he did see the impropriety in invading Hermione's bedroom, and to look at her in such a vulnerable state without her consent was violating the trust of Hogwarts.  
  
Quickly, he perused the shelves of books. An eyebrow quirked at what he found there. While the shelves in the living area had contained serious tomes on muggle and wizard science, potions scriptures and intellectual literature, the books Hermione kept for her most private chambers were a study in eclecticism. Snape was well aware that a collection of books provided an interesting look into the mind of their owner. This collection was very interesting indeed. Unable to help himself, Snape ran a finger over the spines of the neatly stacked but care-worn volumes, holding the softly illuminated tip of his wand up to the books to view their titles. Before his eyes such names as Austen and Bronte floated by- muggle authors, he knew, though he had not devoted much time to their works. Other tomes bore the fanciful names of anthologies of poetry- 'Minds Unbound,' 'Wings of Desire,' and the interestingly named and well-loved copy of 'Mrs Periwinkle's Poems for Children.' Another collection he recognised- Donne, he noted with a slight smile. He should have known that the style of the poet would appeal to such a one as Hermione Granger, with the logical exploration of romantic depths. Tucked neatly beside what was obviously the poetry section- Hermione, Snape mused, had the soul of a librarian- was a tattered old exercise book. He resisted the impulse to draw it from its place and explore its contents- plundering Miss Granger's teenage compositions or whimsical musings was an invasion even he could not excuse.  
  
A few well-thumbed novels rested at the end of the bottom shelf, but what surprised was the collection taking up much of the top shelves. Snape noted with interest that several old schoolbooks occupied this place, orderly little notes sticking up from various pages of many books he had prescribed himself, including two editions of Moste Potente Potions. A copy of Hogwarts: A History, neatly covered with a dust-cover, rested against a stack of notebooks. Snape recalled seeing the more recent editions of some of these texts on Hermione's shelves in the living room; these were obviously infinitely more dear.  
  
With a shake of his head, Snape concentrated on the Potions section of Hermione's private shelves, telling himself that he most certainly was not interested in the woman's notes in any of the books she used for his class. Eventually, he noticed a thin little volume tucked in between two other books, and plucked it out. The red cover displayed the glitzy title: Tabitha's Sensual Spellbook: The Essential Teenage Witch's Guide. Jackpot.  
  
Snape cringed as he flicked through the pages. This stuff was puerile; the potions equivalent of a teen magazine. It was impossible to discern at a glance the difference between one and another. A sigh from the direction of the bed reminded him that his current precarious position, and Snape hastily cut off his light and snapped the book closed. He was trapped in here until dawn, or until Hermione left, as only she could unlock the door. He could wile away the hours with undoubtedly fascinating perusal of the potions book.  
  
Snape bit back a groan as he stood. The years were telling in his knees. He wondered when he had grown old. Probably years ago. Another sigh sounded from the bed, and Snape turned his head. Though it was dim in the room, the figure of Hermione curved gently into the night. He could see her darkly curled hair fanning out on the moonlit pillowcase, could see one white shoulder peeking out from underneath the blanket. For a moment, Snape allowed himself to drink in the sight of such beauty. Then he passed on.  
  
Snape moved to the window, hunched into the pool of light there, and began to sift through the sickening trash that was Tabitha's Sensual Spellbook.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Hermione yawned and stretched. She looked over at the clock: only 7am. She yawned again, and smiled. There was something so wonderful in that moment when one emerged from the land of dreams into a nice warm bed and sunlight on your pillow.  
  
Though she could remember none of her dreams, their tendrils still clung to Hermione as she rose from the bed. Her skin buzzed. She remembered the time she and Harry had taken the Weasleys to Blackmoor pier, and she and Ron had sat at the front of the roller coaster. This was the way she had felt exiting the ride- full of bubbles and anticipation and the sweetness of the day.  
  
She drew in breath sharply as her bare feet touched the floor. Nothing like an icy cold floor to wake a person up, she thought. With a gleeful feeling she sprang away from the bed and padded into the bathroom.  
  
'A bath this morning,' she said quietly to herself, smiling as she set it to pour. With a wave of her wand she magicked a favourite concerto to fill the air. Satisfied, Hermione undressed and began to bathe.  
  
What was with her this morning? she wondered. She felt as if she were floating in a bubble. This happily expectant feeling was almost as perturbing as feeling depressed. With a short sigh, Hermione shook her head, clearing the cobwebs that seemed to addle her brain, and began to wash her hair.  
  
A short while later, she emerged from the more private areas of her rooms, fully dressed and ready for the day. It was still too early to go to breakfast. With a shrug Hermione lit the fire and apparated a tea set. Some quiet moments drinking tea were just what she needed.  
  
As soon as the tea was poured, Hermione sat back and stared into the fire. The jumping flames helped to order her thoughts, of which she was glad. Her thinking had been far too disordered lately.  
  
She had to admit to herself that most of the disruption had centered on Severus Snape. When she had started thinking about him this way, she did not know. Certainly it had to be before Ailie and Sirius had suggested he was in some way attracted to her. Hermione knew, deep within herself, that the revelation had been so shocking because she simply couldn't imagine a man like Severus Snape even sparing her a second glance.  
  
Perhaps it had been Ailie's arrival that had shown Hermione how little of a woman she really was, but she suspected she had been feeling this way for a long time. There seemed so much to learn. In book learning she was supremely confident; her passion had always been study, of anything, and she knew that her intelligence could carry her through any academic territory that she hadn't yet covered. That was it, however; all her knowledge was academic. She needed some hands-on learning.  
  
Hermione had not yet allowed herself to dwell on what she thought of Snape. Letting her mind dwell on him seemed a dangerous action. He was a complete bastard, after all. She had gained some ground with him, she felt sure, by her new-found ability to stand up to him, but any sign of weakness would be pounced upon mercilessly.  
  
She did, however, realise that she felt some sort of... attraction was too strong a word. Fascination, perhaps? Curiosity. Yes, she felt a curiosity about him. It was entirely born from her inexperience, she assured herself; Snape was, after all, perhaps the only such man she could contemplate in Hogwarts, and the idea that he had dreamt about her had brought him forward in her mind. It was as good an explanation as she could endure at such an early hour, anyway.  
  
Impatiently, Hermione put down her tea cup and rose. Her bath had succeeded in blowing away some of the cobwebs of sleep that had clung to her, but the excited, anticipatory feeling under her skin would not go away. She wanted to run, to dance; she wanted to hear flattery drip from the tongue of some handsome man and feel his eyes on her. She could almost feel eyes on her as she walked across the room, picking up the materials she would need for the day. She glanced at the clock: still too early to appear at breakfast. A small frown marred her forehead, and she ran a hand idly through her hair. As her hand slid down her neck, a sudden picture slipped into her mind. Severus Snape's chin would feel stubbly on her neck, she was sure, and that grating against her sensitive skin would make her shiver...  
  
With a disgusted snort, Hermione strode over to the coat rack to retrieve her cloak. She needed to walk these thoughts out of her head.  
  
She didn't notice the slight breeze that swept past her in the corridor.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape heard the slam of the door behind him with a grim satisfaction, and threw off his cloak as he stalked through his rooms. His anger was directed at himself.  
  
He had been very close to following Hermione as she left her rooms. Somehow, the woman had got under his skin, her cloying sweetness drawing him in, making him want... Snape gritted his teeth and began to rip off his robes. This was entirely out of order. This physical attraction to her was utterly impossible; all it took was a graceful movement on the girl's part and he was practically salivating for her.  
  
The way she had ran her had over her neck... Snape closed his eyes and turned the cold water in the shower to full, refusing to gasp at the harshness of it on his heated skin. What had she been dreaming about? Had it been Black meeting her in her dreams, his hands she had been picturing on her neck? The conversation between the two girls the night before had played on his mind. The very thought of Sirius Black laying a hand on Hermione made his stomach roil. The dreamy look on her face this morning tantalised him. What would it be like to prompt such musings in such a beautiful woman?  
  
Snape clenched his fists in frustration. It was exactly such thoughts that angered him most. He had no business pondering such ridiculous ideas and even less business wanting them. If he had to oblivate himself, he would forget this ridiculous attraction to Hermione Granger.  
  
With such resolutions in mind, Snape purged his frustrations in water. 


	15. Plans In Action

Discaimer: I disclaim 'er work. (Ooh, bad pun city).  
  
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has given me so many lovely reviews. You make me go all gooey. Here 'tis, finally, more smut. Hope you like it.  
  
Chapter Fifteen Plans in action  
  
  
  
The persistence in Hermione Granger to be unperturbed by the glares Severus Snape sent her way that morning at breakfast only fuelled the latter's anger toward her. Snape had, with determination, transferred his anger to the woman who had caused his frustration, and resolved to put his plan for revenge in place as soon as possible. As he had all the required ingredients for the potion, that could be as soon as he wished. And he wished it to be very soon indeed.  
  
The matter was resolved with an argument between the two on Snape's way to his second class of the day. He rounded a corner to see Hermione bent over a second-year Ravenclaw student outside her classroom, her hand on the boy's forehead and her brow furrowed in concern. Snape raised a derisive eyebrow as he drew near. The student frequently sought to disappear from his own classes by means of faking an illness, and it appeared he was not above using the trick in other classes.  
  
Hermione, looking up, caught his look and narrowed her eyes at him. Normally, Snape would have passed on- it was inappropriate to argue in front of students- but the look on Hermione's face and the way she tossed her head as she turned back to the student particularly annoyed him.  
  
Carefully keeping his expression blank, he walked over to the pair.  
  
'Are you in need of assistance, Miss Granger?' he asked, his tone all politeness.  
  
Hermione looked up and glared at him over her student's head. He knew that failing to call her 'professor' would irk her.  
  
'No thank you, Severus,' she answered in a tight tone. 'We are perfectly fine.' Snape continued to stand where he was, his head tilted and a slight frown of concern on his face until she was forced to continue, 'I was just about to send David to Madam Pomfrey.'  
  
'I doubt that is necessary,' Snape said, with a sneer. Hermione sighed, and turned back to the student.  
  
'David, please go to the infirmary and ask Madam Pomfrey for a headache potion. She will send you back as soon as you feel better, okay?' She gave the boy a pleasant smile and patted him on the shoulder. The smile dissolved as soon as the boy was out of sight.  
  
'How dare you,' she began, advancing on Snape, 'interrupt when I am consulting with a student? That's completely unprofessional.'  
  
'I hardly think so,' drawled Snape, crossing his arms. 'I was merely giving some advice, though such a thing would not have been necessary if you had paid more attention to your students.' Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, obviously waiting for some explanation. Snape raised an eyebrow. 'David Wenham is a hypochondriac and a truant. He frequently does his best to elude classes with such an act as the one he just performed for you.'  
  
Hermione's lips formed a thin line of anger. 'David had a headache.'  
  
'He did not, and his playacting of it was poor. I am surprised that even you fell for it.'  
  
'He did have a headache, and I refuse to let you talk to me in this manner. Desperate students may fake illness to escape from your classes, Snape, but I don't torture children. I don't let them sit in my classes in pain.'  
  
Snape sneered. 'No. You let them wander about wherever they wish. I am sure the headmaster would be pleased to know the wonderful way you keep track of your students.'  
  
Hermione ran a hand through her hair. Snape tried not to notice the way her long, loose hair brushed against her neck. 'Well, I would have given him some of my own stock except-'  
  
'Hah,' Snape scoffed. 'I doubt that the administration of a potion you brewed would be of much benefit.' He heard Hermione gasp, and realised the double meaning of his words- though he had meant it as a further comment on David Wenham's tactics, but Hermione's sensitivity about her potions skills could prove useful.  
  
'I can brew any potion,' she said. There was an edge of anger in her voice, and with a glance back to the nearby classroom door, Hermione walked closer. Her voice was a hiss. 'My potions are just as good as yours, Snape, and you know it.'  
  
An idea sparked in Snape's brain, and he pounced on the opportunity. He raised an eyebrow challengingly. 'I know no such thing.' He paused, meeting her stare, wanting her to back down. To his surprise, she held his gaze for a number of minutes with a challenging look of her own, and tilted her head, waiting for an explanation.  
  
'You did... adequate work during your years as a student. I doubt there had been improvement.'  
  
Hermione's cheeks grew red-hot. 'I was great at potions. I hardly ever put a foot wrong!'  
  
Snape glanced at the ceiling. 'So it was your best grade?'  
  
Hermione glared at him. 'You know it wasn't- but not through any fault of mine!'  
  
Snape shrugged. 'I fail to see any proof that I am wrong.'  
  
'I'll show you- any time you like!'  
  
'Fine. I am currently in the process of re-stocking Madam Pomfrey's first-aid stores. I will be working in my potions room tonight: you can 'show me' your doubtful talent with potions, if you really feel it is required.' Snape knew he shouldn't sound as though he was plotting, but he also had to bait the hook. With calculated ease, he curled his lip into a sneer and ran his eyes derisively over her. He was pleased to note the flare of anger in her eyes.  
  
'Fine,' Hermione said. Satisfied, Snape nodded coldly to her and swept off. It was not until he reached the door to his classroom that he allowed himself a cold smile. His plan was going very well indeed.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Hermione smoothed down the skirt of her robes outside the door of her old potions classroom. She felt like she was about to attend detention- and, in fact, that was exactly the way Snape's invitation had been issued earlier that afternoon. She remembered that tone of voice, and that cold look. She also remembered this moment, before she knocked on the door and waited for that cold, aristocratic tone giving her permission to enter.  
  
Squaring her shoulders, Hermione raised her hand and knocked on the door, then without pause reached down and opened it. Her triumphant entrance was deflated somewhat when she saw that the room was entirely devoid of Snape.  
  
Musingly, Hermione walked into the room. She hadn't really been in here since her NEWT potions final, although she had passed nearby. She smiled as she traced her fingers along the scarred desks, stained and burnt in places. The damage added a certain charm to the room, that mad, dungeon feeling. She had never told Harry or Ron, but she had actually liked it down here. The solitude, the solace of the stone dungeon walls appealed to her academic's heart. It was only their master that made the dungeons so unpleasant a place.  
  
Hermione walked over to the desks at the back of the room, to the desks she and the other Gryffindors habitually sat. She peered under one of the desks- yes, there was still carved 'L.B. for S.F.'- a relic of the three months Lavender had mooned over Seamus in sixth year. And there- yes, she could still make out the bright yellow stain Neville had created while attempting a sleeping potion one morning. He had added too much flubberworm, causing the potion not only to melt the bottom of the cauldron and stain the desk, but also causing it to spurt up and stain the ceiling. The two fluorescent yellow stains had been perfectly aligned, and, strangely, in perfect proportion to each other.  
  
Hermione was smiling as she turned around, but that smile quickly faded as she beheld her potions master, arms folded, in the far corner.  
  
'You've made yourself at home, I see,' he said. His dry tone served to dispel the cobwebs of nostalgia that the room had managed to wrap around Hermione, and she stepped forward.  
  
'Yes,' she answered nervously. Then, drawing a deep breath, she rallied some of the anger she had felt that afternoon. 'As you seem to need the help,' she added, meeting his cold stare.  
  
Snape parted his hands and gave a slight bow, obviously inviting her to begin her work. 'I presume you can remember where things are,' he said, striding over to the raised platform upon which his desk and cauldron were placed. 'Madam Pomfrey requires some new Skel-E-Grow potion, if it is not too much beyond you.' He stood and looked at her for a moment, then added, 'Of course, you can always start by brewing tea, if such a simple potion is now beyond your reach.'  
  
Hermione gave into the temptation to roll her eyes at his obvious antagonism, and walked over to where the spare cauldrons were kept. 'Why do you question me so, Snape?' she asked in a caustic tone. 'Do you doubt your own ability to teach?'  
  
Snape merely grunted. Hermione sighed. It took too much energy to fight with Snape, especially when he was being obstinate.  
  
Gathering the ingredients needed for the batch of potion, Hermione again asked herself what she was doing here. She had lost her temper, and now somehow had ended up doing Snape's menial tasks for him. Even she couldn't see how that would show him up for a fool. Well, she thought, as she placed the ingredients on a bench, I'm here now. The best I can do is get this done as quickly as possible, and leave. With that in mind, she set to work.  
  
Soon, Hermione was fully occupied brewing the batch of Skel-E-Grow. She knew the potion well; she had taken a course in college studying medicinal potions, as a hobby. Brewing potions always relaxed her, and reviewing the results from a new potion always interested her more than most things. Snape had been right that first day, when he had lectured at them about the subtle art of potions. There was something marvellous about creating such enticing solutions using precise timing, prepared ingredients and a well-placed word here or there.  
  
As the potion finished brewing and she set it to cool, Hermione noted a set of bottles sitting on a side bench, along with a packet of labels, and summoned them with her wand. Quickly, she set a ladle to filling the bottles with the fluid, and had soon labelled them and stoppered them.  
  
Her task done, Hermione looked around, startled to notice that Snape was no longer in the room. Involved in her task, she hadn't even noticed his leaving. She also noticed for the first time a large cauldron bubbling away behind his desk. Walking a little closer to it, Hermione sniffed the air, trying to discern from its scent what the potion inside could be. She had no doubt that Snape's private experiments could be very interesting indeed- she had, after all, seen his name attached to many an article in Ars Alchemica over the years.  
  
Hesitatingly, Hermione approached the cauldron. Snape probably wouldn't appreciate someone snooping around something he was experimenting upon, but then again, he wasn't here, and Hermione certainly wasn't afraid of displeasing him anyway.  
  
Her brow furrowed in thought as she watched the potion in the pot bubble and boil. Her many years of studying potions had taught her the value of scent and appearance- a trained mind could, through these observations, sometimes pick out exactly what the ingredients of a potion were, a handy trick when working around dangerous substances. Hermione thought she could sense a hint of pepperimp, and maybe some elucidatius petals, and what was that strangely familiar perfume... She leant closer, and sniffed. Ah, camomile. One of her personal favourites, when it came to herbs and flowers, and well-noted for its relaxing qualities.  
  
Hermione was just pondering what the outcome of such a solution would be when she sensed a presence behind her. Quickly, she turned around, not surprised to see that Snape had crept up on her. A little discomfited, Hermione stepped away from the cauldron. Snape raised an eyebrow at her.  
  
'No, no, Miss Granger, as you seem so interested in my private workings perhaps you can tell me what it is you've discovered that is so fascinating?'  
  
Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot and glanced away nervously from his penetrating glare. 'I was just...' she began. She cleared her throat, reminding herself that this was a man who could no longer give her detention. 'I have finished the healing solution,' she said haughtily. 'As you seemed so disinterested in your concoction, I decided to check on it.'  
  
Snape's lips twitched into a cold smile. 'Well, please don't let me disturb you. You will, of course, want to taste it, to see if it is brewed correctly.' The offer seemed more of a threat, and probably was. Her eyes darted to the bubbling cauldron, and Snape seemed to pick up on her fear. He let out a dry laugh. 'Of course. You think I would rather poison a young colleague, having to go to the trouble of administering an antidote just to teach you a lesson. What an imaginative child you are.' With a sneer, he reached for the handle of the ladle that rested within the cauldron, and scooped some of the solution up. Stepping forward, he placed a hand under Hermione's chin, tilting her head up as he placed the ladle to her lips.  
  
Hermione held his eyes for a second, then glanced away in defeat. As she took a sip of the potion, she tried to keep her thoughts on the flavours travelling over her palate and not on what she had seen in his eyes. Needing to distract herself, she pondered aloud, 'Camomile, of course, I smelt that before, so the solution is supposed to relax. A hint of candleleaf, for illumination. Elucidatius petals, but with something else... soaked in wytchwater essence?' She looked up, but Snape was not looking in her direction. She continued, nervously, 'Pepperimp, strawberry, honey...' Hermione's brow furrowed as she attempted to make sense of the range of ingredients.  
  
'A new type of serenity solution,' Snape cut in, his eyes still focused on the cauldron. 'Though not fully brewed. It should have very little effect.'  
  
'Oh,' Hermione said, deflated. This conversation was about as strange as any she had ever had. She shook her head. It was well past time she got out of here. 'Well, I've set the bottles of Skel-E-Grow on the bench ready for Madam Pomfrey,' she said, moving swiftly to the door. As a parting shot, she added, 'And next time you need help with your potions obligations, Professor Snape, please just ask.'  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape watched Hermione exit the room out of the corner of his eye, stirring the potion all the while. He smiled to himself. After that little show, Hermione had certainly got a healthy dose of the dream potion, and after administering the dose to her with his own hands, he would now have the satisfaction of knowing that she would know exactly whom had dosed her. Revenge was all the sweeter if the person knew whom they had been duped by.  
  
Of course, Hermione would have got a sufficient dose of the potion anyway, Snape had made certain of that. The bubbling cauldron of potion had in the end served admirably; the spell he had set over it to make it distribute the solution through the air, causing Hermione to unwittingly ingest it, had also sufficiently drawn her attention for hi to force her to sample it when he returned. It was a very satisfactory outcome indeed.  
  
With a wave of his hand, Snape got rid of the fumes still clinging to the dungeon air. He didn't want to be subjected to the results of the potion himself. He simply hoped that Hermione would be too tired to ponder too much on the ingredients she had picked out of the potion. He had strengthened elements of the original solution, improving it considerably, and had added a sleeping draught such as he suspected had been administrated to him. He was avenging himself by making her serve her own punishment, but no-one had said he had to be fair about it.  
  
Telling himself that now the punishment had been administered, he need not concern himself further in the matter, Snape began cleaning up the room. If musings about whom Hermione would dream about entered his head, he steadfastly ignored them.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Hermione looked at herself in the full-length mirror she had moved into her bedroom. The whimsical mood she had woken up with had returned with the solitude of the evening, and she had given in to it, temporarily, brushing her hair until it shone. She ran her hand down her side, feeling the silk of her night-dress run underneath her palm. It was a garment that her mother had given her on her eighteenth birthday, a whimsical creation to suit her mood. She had never noticed how nice the satin felt against her skin.  
  
Feeling suddenly sleepy, Hermione put down her hairbrush and walked over to her bed. Her hand paused as it reached for the coverlet, and she looked up. Her curtains had been closed by the house-elves, but she felt like a little moonlight tonight. Quickly, she walked over to the window, opened them, and then jumped into bed, blowing out the candle in the process. Smiling at her fancies, she closed her eyes and was quickly asleep.  
  
It was a few hours later that she awoke, blinking her eyes fuzzily in the moonlight that stained her pillow. Blearily, she rubbed them, wondering what had caused her to awaken. Years of living in Hogwarts had changed her sleeping habits, preparing her for fairly regular interruptions to her sleep. If she had awoken, it was for a reason.  
  
Muzzily, she looked around the room. It was difficult to see, imprisoned as she was in the moonlight shining at the casement. There- a shadow that should not have been, in the corner. She sat up and leant forward, trying to force her eyes to adjust quickly to the darkness. As she made out the figure, her eyes widened.  
  
'Professor Snape?' she asked, pulling the sheet up over her breasts. There was something distinctly unsettling about this situation. 'What are you doing here? What's wrong?'  
  
The figure stepped forward, and Hermione could now make out the features of his pale face. 'What are you doing here?' she repeated.  
  
'Child,' he said softly, walking to the side of the bed. His body blotted out the light coming from the window, and Hermione shivered. He leant down and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. This is insane, Hermione thought, even as she reacted to his touch. Her eye caught sight of a telltale stain peeking out from under his sleeve, and she grapsed hold of his hand.  
  
'You're cut,' she said, pushing back the sleeve to search for the wound. Snape's other hand closed over her own.  
  
'A graze merely,' he said in stern tones. Hermione shook her head.  
  
'No. You should have this treated. I'm sure Madam Pomfrey-'  
  
'No.' Snape's answer descended like stone. 'It was not Poppy Pomfrey I wished to disturb tonight.'  
  
Hermione pushed any interpretation of that last sentence out of her mind and stood up, still holding his wounded hand. 'Then at least let me see to it,' she said, leading him over to her dressing table and pulling out some gauze. Snape patiently waited as she cut a strip of the dressing off and fastened it to the cut, along with some paste to heal the wound.  
  
'Finished?' Snape asked. The lack of gratitude in his tone irked Hermione, but she had no time to contemplate it as she nodded her head. Immediately, she felt his hands clasp around her forearms and was propelled backward against the wall. She raised her startled eyes to his as she felt his body press against hers.  
  
'Good,' he said, before dipping his head. Hermione gasped in shock as she felt his lips attacking her neck.  
  
'Professor- oh.' Oh dear, she thought as she felt the stubble of his chin rasp against her neck. Her senses were overloaded. All she knew was the feel of his hot hands branding the skin of her arms, his body imprisoning hers, and his lips and -oh yes- his tongue devouring her neck. So this is what it feels like, a distracted part of her brain pondered.  
  
Hermione clamped her teeth together as Snape's hands moved from her arms, sliding down the sides of her body and coming to rest on her hips. He wasn't being forceful, merely leaning against her and drugging her with his kisses. His lips had now moved to her collarbone, adding to the increasing list of sensations overpowering her. Hermione savoured the heat she could feel emanating from his body.  
  
'Oh,' she gasped again as his hand slid up her ribcage and rested below her breast. Unconsciously she arched her back, knowing only she wanted more contact, more...  
  
Suddenly, his heat was gone, and Hermione opened her eyes in surprise. The pause as he moved away from her gave her time to realise that she wanted him to continue with this, to keep seducing her with his lips and hands. The thought flitted through her mind that perhaps this wasn't Snape, wasn't Snape guided by his own actions, but she pushed it aside. The Snape she knew wouldn't be easily overcome, and besides, what could be gained from sending him to her bedchamber? No, the Snape she knew would decide on a course of action and pursue it. The thought made her shiver.  
  
Just as she was about to protest at his retreat, he reached for her, scooping her up and walking over to the bed. Gently he placed her upon it and lay on top of her, making Hermione sigh with pleasure.  
  
His lips renewed their assalt on her neck, working their way down her chest and nibbling at the skin above the edge of her nightdress. Lazily, he leant on one elbow and brought his hand up over her body to tug at the ribbon holding the top of the gown together. Hermione held her breath as the bow came undone, and Snape trailed a finger down the path between her breasts. She gasped as he leant forward and placed a kiss there, moving his hand lower to massage her belly.  
  
Again, he pulled away, and Hermione wanted to cry out in disappointment. She looked up into his eyes, and saw the wicked smile lying there.  
  
'Undress me,' he commanded, sitting up.  
  
Nervously, Hermione sat up and reached for the buttons of his robes. So many buttons, she thought as her shaking fingers fumbled with the fastenings. Eventually, she was able to slide the black robes from his shoulders. She unfastened the buttons of his shirt, marvelling at the sensations of running her hand over his hot chest. Unable to resist, she leant forward to kiss his chest, and felt his hand stroke her cheek. Quickly, she pulled the shirt free from his trousers and freed him from it.  
  
She looked up to see him looming over her, and shivered in anticipation. How could she have not admitted to herself before how amazingly attrative he was? The sight of his white skin made her breathing shallow. Her head swum with the sensations he provoked in her.  
  
Her eyes travelled down to the waistband of his trousers, and she hesitated. She looked up at his chuckle.  
  
'Child,' he chided, an evil smile tugging at his lips.  
  
'I'm- I'm not,' Hermione whispered uncertainly. As much as she would like to argue, there were some areas in which she was as little schooled as a child.  
  
'I don't mind,' he whispered back, leaning over her once more. His hands closed around hers and he tugged her arms up over her head as he settled his body atop hers. Hermione closed her eyes as she savoured the feeling of it. His lips brushed against her ear and he nibbled at the sensitive skin behind it.  
  
'I think, however, that you are a little overdressed,' he growled. He brought one of her hands down and gently slid the strap of her nightdress down her arm. Hermione shivered; partly at the sudden cold on her breast, partly in nervousness. She hadn't been naked in front of anyone since she was a little girl. Would he be pleased with her?  
  
As though sensing her uncertainty, Snape smiled down at her.  
  
'Tut, tut, child,' he said in a low tone. 'Can't you tell that I like it?' With that, his hand closed over her breast, moulding it with his hand. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She hadn't known how much she was yearning for that contact until he performed it. She felt his knee nudging her legs apart, and felt him come to rest with one of her legs positioned in between his. She bit her lip as she felt his erection press against her hip, felt the heat there.  
  
He moved his hips against hers, smiling down at her reaction. 'Can you really doubt your effect on me?' he asked, and Hermione shook her head. Seeking more of that wonderful friction, she arched her hips against his, and heard him chuckle.  
  
'Patience,' he whispered in her ear. He brought her other hand down and slid the remaining strap off her shoulder. Hermione watched wonderingly as he slid her nightgown down to her waist and his gaze focused on her bare breasts. The desire she saw in his eyes made her hunger even stronger.  
  
Snape leant down and pressed kisses down the line between her breasts, darting nibbles as light as a butterfly's kiss along her ribcage. Hermione wriggled. She had never known how frustrating getting only part of what you wanted could be. She arched her back, trying to edge him closer to her breasts, and he chuckled again. His hands tightened on her wrists.  
  
Hermione felt Snape's other leg nudge between hers, sighing at the feel of his trouser material rubbing against her sensitive inner thighs. Swiftly, he released her hands and leant against her, pressing his bare chest to hers. Hermione gasped at the dual sensation of his chest on her breasts and the feel of his erection pressed up against her crotch. Leaning on his elbows to watch her, Snape began moving his hips against her, seeming to drink up the pleasures reflected on her face. Unconsciously, Hermione sought to increase the sensation by wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling herself up to him. She was pleased to hear Snape groan, and felt him thrust himself at her harder. She wriggled beneath him, closing her eyes as she reached for... something. She didn't know what was happening, she only knew she didn't want him to stop.  
  
She felt Snape's hands grasp her hips, reaching down to cup her buttocks and press her harder against him. His lips returned to her neck, his teeth and tongue attacking the skin there. Desperately, Hermione clutched at his back.  
  
'Please,' she breathed, trying to push him back so that she could get at his trousers. All conscious thought had ceased; she only knew that if he wasn't inside her in a few seconds, she would implode. 'Please- I want-'  
  
Snape chuckled down at her. 'Good girl,' he said, reaching for the button at his waistband. Satisfied that soon she would have the pleasure of him inside her, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to pull him down.  
  
'Kiss me,' she commanded, tugging him towards her. She closed her eyes as his mouth descended to hers-  
  
And woke up with an abruptness that took her breath away.  
  
'What?' Hermione mumbled, shielding her eyes from the sun seeping in from the window. She blinked in confusion. How did it get light so quickly?  
  
Puzzled, she sat up, her head spinning from the remaining sensation. A quick glance around the room confirmed what her brain had been trying to tell her since she had awoken.  
  
It had been a dream.  
  
Hermione buried her face in her hands. A thousand thoughts swamped her mind, not least of which was the fact that her silk nightdress was in a puddle around her bare waist and her neck felt sore.  
  
'Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!' she screamed, and threw back the covers. 


	16. An outing and some bad puns

Disclaimer: I'm tired. Leave me alone, Warner Bros.  
  
  
  
Chapter Sixteen  
  
Ailie watched as her friend paced on the carpet before her. It was a rather pleasant spring day, a precursor, she hoped, of the weather that was to come, banishing the dreary clouds and snow of winter. Her friend did not seem pleased with the fact, however.  
  
Ailie had been enjoying a rather nice dream about flying through a forest, and snuggling into her nicely warm blankets for a good Saturday sleep-in when Hermione had barged into her rooms, clad only in a loose robe, her hair flying everywhere and her face contorted with fury. Ailie had soon learned that her friend, as Snape had long ago promised, had just received her punishment for her part in the potions prank they had pulled on that dark master.  
  
She was forced not to chuckle as her obviously frustrated friend paced and ranted, telling her story in a convoluted manner that had left Ailie almost completely in the dark as to what they were talking about.  
  
Judging that Hermione had let off sufficient steam, Ailie put up a hand to halt her, and patted the seat on the couch beside her.  
  
'Okay, now slow down and tell it to me properly,' she said.  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. 'Well, as I said,' she began, more calmly than before, 'Professor Snape tricked me into going to his potions room last night. There was a cauldron full of potion behind his desk, and I looked at it, and he said-'  
  
'Yes, yes, he tricked you into taking the potion. Did he say anything about it?'  
  
'No,' Hermione answered, looking disheartened. 'I suppose it was my own fault. He didn't exactly force me to drink it, just sort of held the ladle to my lips and I couldn't think-'  
  
Ailie hid a smile at that, but nodded encouragement to her flustered friend.  
  
'Anyway, I went to bed pretty much straight away because I was sleepy- he must have put a sleeping potion in the mixture just like we did-' Hermione wandered along that train of thought, and Ailie nudged her friend out of her academic musings.  
  
'And?' she hinted.  
  
'And then I woke up, or I thought I woke up, and he was in the room. He had a cut on his hand so I dressed it for him, but then he pushed me up against the wall and sort of...' Hermione looked pleadingly at her friend, but Ailie shook her head.  
  
'It's best if you tell me everything. Then we can, er, look at the event from a scientific viewpoint,' Ailie said, playing on Hermione's sense of study. It would do Hermione good to talk it out, she knew, and besides, she felt a certain sort of fascination for the way Snape seemed to haunt her friend.  
  
'Well, he was... kissing me on the neck,' Hermione continued. There was a sort of wonder in her voice that intrigued Ailie. 'And then he picked me up and took me over to the bed, and... Oh, Ailie, I can't talk about this!' Hermione's cheeks flamed bright red, and Ailie decided to give her friend a break.  
  
'Okay,' she said. 'You don't have to talk about it if you want to. I was just wondering,' she continued, turning to her friend with an earnest look. 'How did it feel, well, having sex with him when you haven't ever..?'  
  
Blushing furiously, Hermione shook her head. 'Oh, no. We didn't... well, it never got that far,' she said, a tinge of disappointment in her tone. 'I wanted to,' she added, after a pause. 'We were going to... He was about to undo his trousers when it all sort of faded away. Oh gods,' she groaned, putting her face in her hands. 'How can I be thinking this way about Severus Snape?'  
  
Absently, Ailie patted Hermione's back. Her eyes were on the scratch marks on Hermione's neck, an outcome of the dream. It was probably just as well that the dream-Snape hadn't done anything more than he did, she reflected, considering the very physical effects the potion seemed to create.  
  
'And it all seemed real,' Ailie mused aloud.  
  
Hermione nodded miserably. 'Oh, yes,' she answered. 'Until I woke up I thought it was really happening. That's what makes it so bad now.'  
  
'Hmm.' Ailie stared at nothing, deep in thought. 'It's an interesting effect. If we could figure out how to isolate it...'  
  
'Ailie!' Hermione yelled. 'This isn't an experiment!'  
  
'Oh. Sorry,' Ailie said, patting Hermione on the arm. 'I was just thinking.'  
  
'No, I'm sorry,' Hermione said, rubbing her temples. 'I would usually think that way myself. It's just that dream was so powerful- so real.' She sighed. 'I'm still having trouble telling myself it was just a dream. My body seems to think-' she reached up and touched her neck, frowning. 'It's all very confusing.'  
  
Ailie gave her a small smile. 'I'm sorry. I didn't know he was planning anything like this. It's been so long since he last said anything about it.' She stood, and began to prepare a batch of herbal tea she knew would calm her friend.  
  
Hermione looked angrily at the floor. 'Severus Snape is a very patient man. And unforgiving.'  
  
Ailie laughed, setting the kettle by the fire. 'Well, he did tell me that you would know about him and punishment. Did he by any chance-'  
  
'No!' Hermione blushed. Ailie laughed at her reaction. She knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't resist teasing a little. After all, the punishment could have been much worse.  
  
'The worst thing is,' Hermione said despondently, 'he wouldn't kiss me. I wanted him to so much, and he went away before he could. And now all I want-' Her fists clenched. 'I just can't stop thinking about it!'  
  
'Why don't you just go and do it?' Ailie asked, measuring out herbs into the teapot. She heard Hermione gasp.  
  
'I couldn't do that!' her friend said in a shocked voice. 'If nothing else, he'd just laugh at me,' she added.  
  
Ailie shook her head. When would Hermione learn. 'Herm, I doubt it. He gave you that potion knowing what the effects would be. He's had a similar dream about you. It's possible that he just wanted to make you realise what you felt for him, so that he could make a move on you.'  
  
'You don't know Snape,' Hermione replied. 'No. It's impossible.'  
  
'So be it,' Ailie said, pouring the tea. She was surprised to hear Hermione groan.  
  
'If I could only stop feeling this way,' Hermione said, shifting restlessly. This time Ailie didn't bother to hide her smile.  
  
'I'm sorry, sweet. It's started now.'  
  
'What's started?' Hermione asked.  
  
'Your- how can I put this- awakening,' Ailie said with a grin. 'Once you start playing with boys, my dear, you sort of... need to keep doing it.'  
  
'*What?*' Hermione asked, her expression puzzled.  
  
'I mean that now that your body's started thinking about sex, it won't stop,' Ailie clarified. She almost laughed at Hermione's downcast look.  
  
'You mean I'm going to feel this bad for the *rest* of my *life*?' she said despondently. She groaned and put her hands over her face. 'No-one ever told me about that.'  
  
'Sorry to say, my sweet, but it's true. Once you start experiencing sexual pleasure, your adult body begins to expect it. If you don't get it, it gets frustrated. You won't always feel this bad, though,' Ailie added, putting a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder and handing her a cup of tea. 'It's only because you began something that couldn't be finished. You only get frustrated if you want sex but can't have it.' Ailie pondered for a while. 'Of course, if you don't have sex for long enough, it sort of goes away.'  
  
'How long?' Hermione asked, her voice hopeful.  
  
'Oh, about two years,' Ailie answered with a smile. Having lost her virginity at a fairly young age, she was familiar with the urges her body forced on her occasionally. 'You could- um, how do I put this- take care of things yourself..?' she suggested to her friend's downturned head.  
  
Hermione looked up, blushing again. 'Um, I don't think that would work. I sort of- tried,' she said, her face becoming red. She sighed in frustration. 'I just want him.'  
  
Ailie smiled gently at her. 'Well, I've already given my ideas on that point. And I don't think he'd really turn you away. But that sort of thing can become complicated, just to satisfy an urge. The only thing I can suggest is that you give yourself time; you'll calm down.' She watched as Hermione nodded, looking down into her tea.  
  
'Come on,' Ailie said, jumping off the couch. 'You and I are going downstairs to have a truly sinful breakfast of the most fatty, disgusting things we can imagine, and then we're going to think up something fun to do today.' Hermione gave her an uncertain smile, and rose. Ailie followed as Hermione went through the fireplace to her rooms. She wasn't going to give her friend a chance to brood.  
  
Ailie smothered a smile as she noticed Hermione put on a high-necked sweater to cover the scratching on her neck. As if to be doubly sure, the other girl left her hair down as well.  
  
Eventually, there was nothing more Hermione could do to delay their going. Arm in arm, the two girls made their way to the great hall for the morning meal. There were only a few students dotted around the room, and Ailie easily guided her friend to the head table, seating her so that she was facing the students, and would be in no danger of accidentally meeting eyes with Snape should he turn up.  
  
Determinedly Ailie piled their plates high with the most glutinous collection of breakfast foods to hand; pancakes, waffles, sausages, bacon and eggs- with a jug full of maple syrup near to hand. With encouragement, Hermione managed to down a fair part of the meal, though the comfort food didn't make a visible impression on her spirits.  
  
Taking time to enjoy her own meal, Ailie heard an intake of breath from her friend's direction, and looked up to see Snape making his way across the hall to the table. Ailie glanced at Hermione, seeing that her friend had paled. She inwardly cursed. Virgins were certainly more delicate than she thought, and, looking at the thoughtful expression on Snape's face as he headed to their side of the table, he would be of no help whatsoever.  
  
Swiftly, Hermione pushed away her plate and rose. Shooting Ailie a speaking look, the girl fled by a side door just before Snape reached them.  
  
Ailie sent him a glare as he pulled out a chair the other side of her, knowing that it would have no effect.  
  
'Well, I hope you're happy,' she said lowly, reaching forward for some butter for her pancake. Snape merely looked at her with a raised eyebrow.  
  
'Oh, don't pretend that you don't know,' Ailie said disgustedly. 'Even if Hermione hadn't woken me up this morning because of it I still would have been able to tell; your smugness is just about leaking from your ears.'  
  
Snape lips twitched in a slight smile. 'Miss Granger wasn't happy with her punishment? I did nothing to her that she didn't do to me.'  
  
*Oh really?* Ailie thought, her own lips twitching. Her smile disappeared as she felt Snape enter her mind a second before she thought to control her thoughts. Damn. Cautiously, she looked at Snape. A slow light was dawning in his eyes, indicating that he had, indeed, gathered the information he wanted from her mind. She closed her eyes in defeat.  
  
'Okay, so she dreamt about you. Is that less than what you intended?' she asked. 'And would you mind not doing that? It gives me a headache.'  
  
She watched as a smug smile spread across Snape's face, the first real smile she had ever seen him give. He looked positively delighted. The impression lasted only a second, before he visibly schooled his emotions.  
  
'I see no difference it should make to me,' Snape said, a tinge of interest giving lie to his tone. Ailie laughed sarcastically.  
  
'I'm sure,' she said derisively. 'So you have absolutely no interest in finding out exactly what you did to her?'  
  
'She told you?' Snape asked, hedging.  
  
Ailie smiled. Bingo. 'Every detail,' she lied. 'And it's no use trying to read my mind, either,' she added, as a look of concentration came over his face. 'I'm not letting you in.'  
  
Snape glared at her. 'Well, you're wrong,' he said. 'I have absolutely no interest in the matter whatsoever. I merely administered the potion to teach Miss Granger a lesson.'  
  
'You're such a bad liar,' Ailie laughed. 'I don't know why you don't just admit it. You've got the hots for her.' She watched as Snape gritted his teeth, and decided to tease him a little. She patted his arm. 'Cheer up,' she said in his ear, 'at least you now know that she has the hots for you, too. Make a move, you could both do with getting laid.' She bit back a laugh as Snape's face took on an expression of fury. Judging that this was a time to be diplomatic, she pushed her plate away and rose.  
  
As she made to leave the table, Ailie suddenly spied Professor McGonagall talking to Madams Hooch and Sprout. An idea dawned and she walked over to them.  
  
'Hi,' she said, kneeling down between them with a smile. 'Sorry to interrupt, but I've a favour to ask.' The three older women all looked at her enquiringly. Ailie wondered how she could phrase her request.  
  
'I don't know if you've noticed,' she began, 'but Hermione's been feeling a bit down lately, and I really think a day out would be good for her. I was wondering if you girls would like to come along with us?'  
  
Minerva McGonagall smiled. 'That sounds like a fine idea,' she said.  
  
'Well, I'm in,' said Madam Hooch, dabbing at her lips with a napkin. 'Where were you thinking of going?'  
  
Ailie shrugged. 'I don't really know anywhere outside of Hogwarts,' she said reluctantly.  
  
'Well, Hogsmeade is the easiest choice,' suggested Professor Sprout, draining her tea. 'I don't recall seeing Hermione there on previous weekends. You'll have to excuse me, though; I'd love to get out, but I have to nurse the mandrake seeds- they're about ready to hatch.'  
  
'Hogsmeade would be just the place,' McGonagall said. 'Hermione was telling me just the other week that she never took the time to browse there, and you haven't seen it yet, Ailie.'  
  
'We can ask Poppy along as well, if you'd like,' Freya Hooch said. 'I know she's itching to get out of the infirmary, after the week she's had.'  
  
'Oh, an outing!' the diminutive Professor Flitwick interrupted. 'Can I come along too?'  
  
'I'm afraid, Filibus,' said McGonagall, 'that this is a strictly females-only outing. Am I correct?' she asked Ailie, with a knowing look. Ailie nodded gratefully. She liked little Professor Flitwick, and wouldn't have liked to hurt his feelings.  
  
Happily, Ailie agreed on a time to meet in the foyer, and set back off to hers and Hermione's rooms to coerce her friend into the outing.  
  
She was surprised that it took little cajoling to convince Hermione of the benefit of an outing.  
  
'No, you're right, Ailie,' Hermione said with characteristic briskness. 'It's hopeless sitting around dwelling on it. At least if I'm part of a group of people I'm forced to talk to them.'  
  
Ailie didn't exactly agree with her friend's phrasing of the idea, but was willing to nod her head to get Hermione to come along. Perhaps Hermione would see the benefits of being around her fellow women once they were out and about.  
  
It was with some little anticipation that Ailie donned her cloak and boots in her rooms. She had heard much about this Hogsmeade from the children of the school, and had often wanted to go herself, but had been prevented by lack of a companion. It was too risky, Dumbledore said, for her to go wandering about outside the grounds of Hogwarts by herself, and Ailie was inclined to agree.  
  
Ailie collected Hermione from her room and headed with her toward the entranceway. She inwardly groaned as they turned a corner and saw Snape in their path. Giving him a warning look and attempting to ward him away with wishing, Ailie firmed her grip on Hermione's arm, but thankfully Snape moved past with barely a glance at them. Ailie risked a look at Hermione and saw a telltale rising colour in her friend's cheeks. She moved her onward down the stairway.  
  
The three older women were waiting for them by the front doors, all cloaked up for the chill wind outside. Minerva McGonagall gave Ailie a bright smile and, stepping forward, took Hermione's other arm. Thus, they set out for Hogsmeade.  
  
The three other women chatted happily as they walked down the muddy path, and Ailie was free to enjoy her surroundings. Soon, she realised that the women's conversation involved school gossip.  
  
'So I heard that Davison asked her on a date next time they go to muggle London,' Poppy Pomfrey was saying.  
  
'There's no way Celise would agree to go out with him,' McGonagall replied. 'She's pureblood through and through.'  
  
'You would think so,' Poppy said. 'But I saw them the other night in the west wing, and they were somewhat deep in conversation.'  
  
'I bet they were just talking about their conflicting 'class schedules,'' interpolated Madam Hooch with a laugh. The other two women joined in, as Ailie looked from one to the other.  
  
'Don't worry, just a little joke,' McGonagall said, patting Ailie on the arm.  
  
'You know,' said Madam Hooch, 'Severus is certainly smug these days.' Ailie heard a small sound from Hermione at these words, and gripped her friend's arm.  
  
'Well, he certainly seems in top form. Getting right on top of young Hermione here all the time, really grinding it into her,' said Poppy, with a sympathetic look at Hermione. 'The man really has no conscience.' Hermione let out a small squeak, and Ailie decided she had to do something to intervene on her friend's behalf.  
  
'Er, can we sort of not talk about that?' she asked, trying to give speaking looks to the other three.  
  
'What? Had another tussle with him, have you?' Madam Hooch asked Hermione. Ailie saw Hermione wince, and put a cautionary hand on Hooch's arm. The other woman caught her look, shrugged, and let the topic drop.  
  
Soon they reached Hogsmeade. Ailie decided to use blackmail tactics to bring Hermione around, needling her into being a tour guide for the trip. After a while of pointing out familiar places and relating stories of times spent there, Hermione's mood began to perk up.  
  
The ladies descended on the clothing store Gladrags, and Ailie was again surprised how quickly these usually demure women became giggling teenagers. She watched as the witches tried on various styles of robes, pleased when they deliberately involved Hermione in their activity.  
  
'You should buy that,' Freya Hooch said, pointing to the flowing skirt Hermione was currently trying on.  
  
'No, *you* should buy *that*,' Poppy said in return, eyeing the daring pantsuit in green velvet that Madam Hooch was holding. 'That colour would look absolutely amazing with your eyes.'  
  
'Yes, but where would I wear it?' mused Hooch, contemplating herself in a mirror.  
  
'Well, I don't care, I'm buying this,' said McGonagall, holding up a scarf in dark blue and gold. 'I like the way the little stars twinkle on it.' Ailie looked closely at the embroidered material of the scarf and saw that, indeed, the little gold stars were twinkling in their replicated sky.  
  
All four women drew in breath when Hermione exited the change-rooms in a concoction of blue velvet. The deep blue robes ran down to the floor, opening at the collar and cuffs for a white lace ruffle. The robes fastened to the knee, whereon they opened just enough to let the legs of the matching blue satin undertrousers peek out. The overall effect was of a dashing renaissance count, or Marlene Dietrich on a better budget.  
  
'You are definitely buying those,' said Madam Hooch.  
  
'I never knew they made everyday robes that looked so stylish,' said McGonagall.  
  
'They're all the rage in Switzerland,' said the passing sales clerk. Hermione looked a little embarrassed with all the attention.  
  
'Oh, my dear,' said Poppy Pomfrey, placing a hand on Hermione's arm. 'You simply have to buy those robes. Whoever it is that's been bothering you today, you'll certainly knock him flat in those.'  
  
'Who said I wanted to knock him flat?' asked Hermione, her tone defiant, and turned back into the changing rooms. Ailie noticed, however, that as they left the shop, Hermione carried a rather bulky bag under her arm.  
  
The women decided to stop for a late lunch at the Three Broomsticks. Taking possession of a table by a sunny window, they were soon plentifully served with their orders of food and drinks.  
  
Ailie looked doubtfully at the steaming mug before her. Hermione had assured her that Butterbeer was one of the most delicious drinks in wizardry, with only a slight stimulative effect, but looking into the murky liquid before her, Ailie felt slightly hesitant about actually drinking it. Melted butter had never had any appeal for her. However, watching the rest of the witches sip their own drinks, Ailie had little choice but to be polite. The result wasn't as bad as she expected, though a little too sweet for her taste.  
  
'I can't believe it's three o'clock already,' said Madam Hooch, putting down her half-drained glass.  
  
'Time flies when you're having fun,' said McGonagall dryly. She leant back in her seat. 'How I dread teaching those third years on Monday.'  
  
'Hah, you only have to teach them,' said Poppy Pomfrey. 'I have to heal them afterwards.'  
  
'Not because of my class,' McGonagall rejoindered. 'It's usually Filibus or Ceres that send most of the traffic your way, if I recall correctly. And don't think I'm forgetting you either, Freya. The terms when you teach Quiddich alone should be enough to deplete Poppy's Skel-E-Grow stores.'  
  
'Actually, it's Severus' class that's the worst,' said Poppy, taking a healthy sip of her drink. 'At least I can tell a broken arm when I see one. But a student speaking bubbles because of a prank takes hours to fix. Luckily Severus usually has the right antidote.'  
  
'Too bad he couldn't keep a closer eye on his class,' said Hooch. Beside Ailie, Hermione snorted, drawing their attention.  
  
'You forget, I've been in his class,' she said. 'He keeps an eye on people all right. It's the attributing of blame that causes the problems. If he only picked on the right student-'  
  
'Severus Snape has a certain blind spot in that area,' interrupted McGonagall. 'And poor Poppy has to look after the results.'  
  
'Oh, I don't mind,' said Poppy. 'He's very kind when it comes to mixing up the potions I need, and usually fixes up most of his students himself. Besides, I don't mind Severus. You can repair a man only so many times before you have to admit he's human. Even if he doesn't,' she added darkly.  
  
'Hmm, and exactly how human is he?' asked Madam Hooch with a sly smile.  
  
Poppy's face took on a serious expression. 'A doctor cannot reveal information about a patient,' she said, then broke into a smile. 'Of course, I'm not a doctor...'  
  
Ailie sensed that they were getting into dangerous territory, but thankfully the moment was saved by Rosmerta returning to see if they required any more drinks.  
  
'What do you say, girls?' asked McGonagall.  
  
'What the hell, it's the weekend,' said Hooch, ordering a glass of mulled wine.  
  
McGonagall turned to Ailie and Hermione with a raised eyebrow. Ailie shrugged. 'I'd like another drink, but that one was a little...'  
  
'Sweet?' said Poppy, smiling sympathetically. 'I know. I'm not to fond of butterbeer myself.'  
  
'I don't know any more wizard beverages,' said Ailie.  
  
'How about a muggle one,' suggested McGonagall. 'A gin and tonic is my particular favourite, although very British,' she added with a frown.  
  
Ailie looked at her, slightly puzzled. 'Is it like butterbeer?'  
  
McGonagall laughed. 'No. It's quite different to butterbeer.'  
  
'Okay,' Ailie capitulated. 'As long as Hermione will join me.' They all looked at Hermione. She opened her mouth to answer, but Hooch cut her off.  
  
'Of course she will,' interrupted Hooch, placing their order. Hermione shrugged.  
  
The afternoon wore on into evening, and Ailie was surprised when she glanced out the window and saw it was getting dark. She looked around the table and surveyed the scattered glasses upon it. She smiled. The day certainly was going well, and the mood around the table had developed into friendly celubriousness.  
  
'Well, I don't know about Filibus,' said McGonagall, 'but Rubeus looks quite nice in his shorts.'  
  
Beside Ailie, Hermione gasped. 'You have never seen Rubeus Hagrid in his shorts!' she said.  
  
Poppy Pomfrey giggled. 'Of course she has. People go swimming in the pond every summer, after all.'  
  
'And we all watch,' added Hooch.  
  
'And Minerva has a huge crush on Hagrid,' finished Poppy. McGonagall shook her head.  
  
'No I don't. I just appreciate a giant in shorts,' she said, making the other two giggle uproariously.  
  
'You wicked witches,' said Ailie, sipping at her drink. She was beginning to feel a little light-headed herself. 'Those poor men go swimming in good faith-'  
  
'Hah!' said Hooch, waving her drink in the air for emphasis. 'They know what they're in for.'  
  
'I think they like showing off,' said McGonagall.  
  
'Hmm.' Ailie looked around the table. 'Any other little tidbits we young things should know about?'  
  
'Ailie, you are not going to seduce Professor Flitwick,' Hermione said, and the table burst into giggles.  
  
Ailie held up a hand and shook her head. 'No, I insist. Give us the goss.'  
  
'Well,' said Poppy, playing with a pretzel that was lying on the table. 'I really shouldn't tell you this but I know from a very reliable source that Pontius Charmancy- that's the Wandless Professor, Ailie- bats for the other team.'  
  
Madam Hooch let out a howl. 'Oh, come on, Poppy, tell us something that's not bleedingly obvious!'  
  
'Yes, even *I* knew that Poppy,' said McGonagall.  
  
Poppy looked hurt. 'Well, I didn't. I was disappointed. I thought he looked rather cute.'  
  
'They all do,' said Hermione, nodding wisely.  
  
'Now, come on, we've been gossiping away; it's your turn,' McGonagall said. Poppy Pomfrey nodded and leant forward eagerly.  
  
'Yes, you young things always get up to the most amazing stuff,' she said, taking a gulp of her drink.  
  
Hermione shrugged, looking down. Hooch laughed. 'She's too shy, ladies.'  
  
Ailie looked at Hermione and gave and evil grin. 'Not that shy,' she began. The three older women jumped on the bait, looking eagerly at her. 'Well,' Ailie continued. 'It's not my place to tell, but let me just say I recently found out something concerning an unnamed young member of this table, and a certain person we know whose name begins with S.' The three gasped.  
  
'Hermione, you *didn't*-' said Poppy in delightedly shocked tones. Hermione looked at Ailie, glaring at her.  
  
'Ailie, what happened between me and Snape-'  
  
Ailie put her hand to her mouth. 'I never meant- I was talking about *Sirius-*' She paused, looking at the eager faces around her, and closed her mouth. Sneaking a peek at her friend, Ailie was glad to see that Hermione was too tipsy to really mind.  
  
'Severus- *and* Sirius?' asked McGonagall, giggling. 'My, you have been busy.'  
  
'Shh, Minerva,' hushed Hooch. 'Let the girl tell us all the gory details.' Hermione clamped her mouth firmly closed, shaking her head, and Hooch leant forward and patted her hand. 'You'd best tell us dear,' she said sympathetically. 'We'll get it out of you anyway, and you don't want to see what spells we've got up our sleeves.'  
  
Hermione glanced around the table, a high colour rising in her cheeks. 'Well...' she began. 'I don't know where to begin...'  
  
Poppy waved her hand. 'Oh, just anywhere will do. Spill it.'  
  
'Begin with Sirius; he's the cute one,' said Hooch.  
  
Hermione smiled and looked down at her drink. 'It's not what it sounds like. It's just, at Christmas, I had a problem, and Sirius... fixed it.'  
  
'I'll bet he did,' said McGonagall. 'I've known Sirius Black since he was eleven. He's been quite the busy puppy since he hit puberty.'  
  
'No, it's not like that!' Hermione said, shocked. 'I just- I wasn't feeling very well and Sirius kissed me. It was nice,' she added with a small smile.  
  
'Hmm,' said Poppy. 'That sounds supicious. And don't think you're getting out of telling us about Severus. Freya may be infatuated with that handsome face Sirius has, but I've a feeling that Severus's story is much juicier.'  
  
'Um.' Hermione looked pleadingly at Ailie. 'Ailie can tell the first bit. She knows it better. Besides, it was your idea,' she added.  
  
Ailie rolled her eyes. She looked around the table at the older women waiting avidly. 'You girls are vultures,' she said, and they laughed. 'All right,' she began. 'Hermione and I decided to play a trick on Snape, and we found a potion in this book, Tabitha's Sensual Spellbook-'  
  
Poppy sighed. 'If you only knew how many deflating charms I've had to perform because of that book,' she said, but was hushed by Hooch.  
  
'Well, anyway, we made it, and, thanks to some really great ideas on 'Mione's part, managed to slip it to him on Christmas Eve-'  
  
'Ooh,' said McGonagall. 'That was daring.'  
  
Ailie gave her a stern look. 'Anyway,' she continued, 'the potion was designed to have some, er, interesting effects on Snape. It was a dream potion, supposed to make you dream about things you truly want but don't think you can have-' she smiled as understanding began to dawn on the faces around her, '-and, well, Snape dreamt about Hermione. And trust me, boy did that potion work.'  
  
Hooch narrowed her eyes at her. 'How do you know this? It's not like Severus to go around spilling his dreams to people.'  
  
Ailie looked at Hermione, suddenly panicking. Madam Hooch hadn't been let in on the secret of Ailie's true identity, and Poppy didn't know the full truth about the link between Snape and the Wiccan. McGonagall provided some help.  
  
'Ailie's a very clever girl,' she said, sharing a look with Ailie. 'And she's been working with Severus since the start of the year. She was bound to work it out.'  
  
'Yes, well,' Ailie continued, wanting to move from the topic, 'Snape found out that it was Hermione and I that gave him the potion, and decided to get his revenge. With me, he just made me his workroom assistant to make it up to him, but for Hermione he said he was going to go about it a different way.' Ailie looked at Hermione. 'I think this is your part of the story.'  
  
Hermione sighed. 'Well, Ailie told me Snape knew, but as it has been such a long time since Christmas I thought perhaps he had forgotten about it.' Around the table, the three witches shook their heads wisely. Anyone who knew Severus Snape was aware of his capacity for cool thought. 'He and I seem to fight quite a lot-' at this, McGonagall clicked her tongue and Hooch nodded her head, '-and yesterday he came along the corridor when I was seeing to David Wenham. The poor boy had a headache, and Snape insisted that he was faking it-'  
  
'I'm afraid he was probably right, my dear,' interrupted Poppy. 'Young master Wenham is terrible for that sort of thing.'  
  
'Anyway,' Hermione went on with a breath of frustration, 'I sent David along to you, Poppy, and Snape and I had a bit of a discussion about my teaching skills, which led on to a discussion of my potions skills-'  
  
'Ooh, he knows which buttons to push, all right,' said Madam Hooch.  
  
'-and it ended with Snape suggesting that I prove that I was sufficiently adept at potion brewing by making up some of Poppy's stores.'  
  
'In other words, he tricked you into doing his chores,' laughed Poppy. Hermione looked a little shame-faced.  
  
'Yes, well. I went to his classroom last night, brewed up a batch of Skel-E-Grow- which was exactly as it should have been, by the way- and was about to leave when I noticed that he had a new type of potion boiling in his cauldron.'  
  
'You could put it that way,' Ailie said in an aside to the others, which made them break into laughter.  
  
'Anyway,' Hermione continued, 'he came in and saw me looking at his potion, and said that as I was such an expert I should taste it to see what it was, and then he grabbed a ladle full of it and put his hand on my face and I just didn't think and took a sip-'  
  
'Ooh,' said the three older ladies.  
  
'And then, well, last night I had a dream,' Hermione finished.  
  
'Don't think you're stopping there!' Poppy said, leaning forward.  
  
'Yes,' said Hooch, distributing some fresh drinks from the tray Rosmerta was holding. These had umbrellas in them. Ailie recalled McGonagall ordering something with 'rum' in it. 'You haven't got to the good bits yet.'  
  
Hermione blushed. 'Well...'  
  
'You should tell us, dear,' said McGonagall, handing Hermione a drink and patting her hand. 'It does you good to talk about it.'  
  
Hermione took a long sip of her drink and began again. 'Well, I was really sleepy, so I went straight to bed. It didn't seem like very long, and I woke up, and- and- he was in the room.'  
  
'Who? asked Poppy tipsily, but was hushed by the rest of the table.  
  
'I asked what he was doing there, and he walked over to the bed. I noticed he had a cut on his hand. I thought maybe he'd- he'd come back from, you know, a meeting, and was hurt, so I got up and dressed the cut, but when I finished he asked if I was done, and when I said, 'yes,' he-' Hermione looked around at their rapt faces and grimaced with embarassment. 'He started sort of kissing my neck, and I got all dizzy, and then he picked me up and walked over to my bed-'  
  
'Oh,' breathed Hooch, who was quickly elbowed by Poppy.  
  
'-and then he was lying on top of me, and sort of kissing me all over, but he wouldn't kiss me on the lips and I wanted him to so much-'  
  
'Ah,' sighed McGonagall. 'That's so dear.'  
  
'-and I reached up to kiss him and I woke up.'  
  
Silence reigned at the table for a few moments, as each of the older women contemplated their own thoughts.  
  
'That's so sweet,' said Poppy, finally.  
  
'I wish I had more dreams like that,' said Hooch, taking a stout gulp of her drink.  
  
'My dear, what are you going to do?' asked McGonagall.  
  
'That's just what I asked this morning,' said Ailie. 'She obviously wants him: I don't know why she can't have him.'  
  
The three older witches exchanged a look.  
  
'What?' asked Ailie.  
  
'Ailie, you can't simply go around 'getting' men,' said Poppy.  
  
'Especially when the man happens to be a colleague,' added McGonagall.  
  
'And even more especially when he happens to be Severus Snape,' said Hooch.  
  
'Who said I wanted him?' asked Hermione. 'I never said so. The subconscious-'  
  
''Mione,' said Ailie. 'Stop trying to deny it. The state you were in this morning wasn't caused by your subconscious, even if you and he hadn't been lusting after each other for most of the year.' Hermione gasped.  
  
Minerva McGonagall chuckled. 'I had wondered why Severus' temper was so short of late.'  
  
'I know I've never fought with him as much as you seem to,' added Hooch, pointing to Hermione. A contemplative look came over her face. 'Although maybe I should, if this is the outcome of it.'  
  
Hermione looked miserably into her drink. 'It's not as though I fancy him. It's just...'  
  
'You want him. I know, my dear,' said Poppy, giving Hermione a sympathetic smile. 'And that makes it even more complicated, I suspect.'  
  
'I'm not so certain,' said McGonagall, with a calculating look. 'Give your heart on a plate to Severus, and he's apt to behave like a reasonable man, and be kind, and make everything more awkward than you could imagine.'  
  
'And if it's just a case of sex, he'll either say yes or no,' laughed Madam Hooch, knocking over her drink. 'Damn.'  
  
Hermione looked around the table, her eyes wide. 'I am not walking up to Severus Snape and-'  
  
'We don't expect you to do anything of the kind, dear,' said McGonagall, sending a stern look to Madam Hooch. 'Besides,' she added. 'We have to remember we're talking about Severus Snape. He's not the simplest of men.'  
  
'No,' said Poppy, looking serious. The group sat in silence for a further few minutes.  
  
'It's not as though I want to do anything about it,' said Hermione. Ailie rolled her eyes.  
  
'Uh-huh. Well, I think something should be done before you two explode in the corridors and startle the students.' Ailie looked at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. Hermione shook her head.  
  
'This is just too weird,' she said, looking down at her empty glass.  
  
'I agree,' said Hooch, rising rather unsteadily. 'We need to drink a lot more before we even contemplate it.' With that, she walked over to the bar to place another order.  
  
'Well,' said McGonagall, very seriously tidying the glasses on their table. 'So... what does Severus look like in his shorts?' She looked at Hermione, and raised an eyebrow.  
  
'Pasty,' said Poppy, matter-of-factly, and the rest of them broke into laughter.  
  
It wasn't until closing time that the five of them made their unsteady way back along the path to Hogwarts, talking and giggling all the while. Hermione had quickly got over her embarrassment and was freely contributing to the bad puns flying back and forth. Ailie found it most entertaining.  
  
'Did he use that voice?' asked Madam Hooch, making Hermione giggle.  
  
'Can you imagine it?' said Poppy, giggling. "I've come to get you, Hermione," she intoned, in an ominous voice.  
  
'I wonder if he really does it that way,' whispered Hooch.  
  
'I wonder if he knew I would dream about him,' asked Hermione.  
  
'Of course he did,' said Ailie, walking behind them with Professor McGonagall. The three giggling women in front of them paid no attention to her reply, but McGonagall looked at her enquiringly.  
  
'I wouldn't necessarily say that, Ailie,' the older woman said. 'Severus is a fairly unassuming man.'  
  
'Well, he looked pleased enough when he found out this morning who Hermione dreamt about,' Ailie replied in a whisper.  
  
McGonagall's eyes widened slightly. 'How did he find out?'  
  
'How do you think?' Ailie tapped her head. 'I never would have told him, for Hermione's sake, but you should have seen the smug look on his face when he found out.'  
  
'Hmm.' McGonagall smiled. 'You know, this is a very interesting situation.'  
  
'Well, just don't tell Hermione that he knows; she'd kill me.'  
  
'I wonder if his proportions in your dream were the right ones, Hermione,' Madam Hooch wondered aloud.  
  
'I didn't exactly take measurements,' giggled Hermione.  
  
The fivesome were soon at the door to Hogwarts, and Ailie and McGonagall, the more sober of the group, managed to usher them all inside without mishap.  
  
In the corridor, they parted, McGonagall taking Freya Hooch and Poppy in hand and Ailie assuming charge of Hermione. After many hugs and giggled goodbyes, they managed to head in their different directions.  
  
Arm in arm with Hermione, Ailie thought about the situation. Tomorrow would be very interesting indeed, if the three older witches were the busybodies she suspected they were. The thought of the looks Snape would have to suffer tomorrow morning made her giggle, then laugh. Soon she was bowled over with laughter. Calming down a little, she realised she had lost Hermione. She frowned.  
  
'Hermione?' she whispered, holding her head. The laughing fit had made her dizzy. 'Hermione?' she said again, stumbling a few paces along the corridor. She continued toward a corner, in case Hermione had decided to go on a journey by herself.  
  
Rounding a corner, she saw Hermione making her way down the corridor. Ailie was about to call to her when she noticed Severus Snape rounding a corner in the other direction. The potions master caught sight of Hermione, obviously drunk, and frowned. Ailie could almost see the disapproval emanating from him.  
  
Hermione had caught sight of him too, and Ailie saw her stand up straight for a second, as if making a decision. Then she nodded, and let go of the wall that was holding her up.  
  
Hermione walked over somewhat unsteadily, putting her hands out for balance. Stopping just in front of him, she reached out and poked Snape in the chest.  
  
'You wouldn't kiss me,' she chided. Then, after a concentrated look at his lips, she passed out. Snape was just quick enough to catch her before she fell over.  
  
His expression unreadable, Snape looked down at the girl in his arms.  
  
'Would you want me to?' he asked to no one in particular, the soft tone travelling on the night air. Ailie put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling. She ducked back behind the wall as Snape glanced around, obviously wondering what to do with the drunken girl. When she looked back, Snape had picked Hermione up and was striding down the hall with her. As soon as he was safely gone, Ailie gave into the giggles bubbling up from her chest. She made her way to her rooms. It was best to leave the couple to sort things out for themselves, she was sure. 


	17. Snape kicks back

A/N: Okay, here is a short, horribly short chapter to show that I have actually been thinking about this story. I'm working on more, and will do as much as I can. The next few chapters might be a bit more interesting. I promise!  
  
P.S. Ooh, I'm currently listening to Chris Isaak's 'Wicked Game'. What an inducement to write things about a certain Potions Master. 'What a wicked thing to do to make me dream of you.' what an appropriate line.  
  
To everyone who has waited so incredibly patiently: kiwi pixie, thanks for the understanding and good wishes, my play went over well and we even made some money; Miss Elvin; Night Shade; loopy loopy lupin (what a great name. BTW); Canadian Weirdo; Morwen- thanks for such entusiastic (and thoroughly undeserved) praise!; eowowiel; Uberscully; Chrissy; Regina and whyMMM. Thanks for all your kind wishes and understanding, and also for wanting to read more of my story.  
  
  
  
Chapter Seventeen  
  
Snape opened his eyes to the dimness of his chambers, his mind a blank. Sleep sometimes had that wonderful effect on him; robbing him of thought, freeing him of torture. Slowly, the occupants of his mind made their way back into his brain; ordinary, everyday thoughts like whether he had clean socks and if he needed to change his sheets today, more complex thoughts like the equation for his latest experimental potion, the thoughts that lurked in the back of his mind every moment of every day, taunting him with past deeds, and, finally, memories of the evening before.  
  
Of course. The sight of Hermione Granger drunkenly making her way down the dim corridor. Prodding him in the chest, making her rather interesting accusation. Fainting- without a care as to who would take care of her. Then picking her up, seeking out one of the numerous spare rooms kept at the ready in this busy castle in the failure of knowing the password to her rooms, lying her down, performing the unusually personal task of removing her boots for her and tucking her in.  
  
Snape allowed himself a period of reflection as he worked his limbs into life. He flexed his fingers and thought of the way Hermione Granger's hair really did look like on a moonlit pillow. He stretched his legs and remembered the way her lips parted in sleep. He yawned sleepily and thought of the scratches on her neck, wondering if his dream-self had inflicted them on her. He cracked a knuckle and cursed himself for thinking these thoughts in the first place. Moonlight and romance were the stuff of pulped novels.  
  
With a groan, Snape sat up and placed his feet against the floor. Why did he have the damned habit of patrolling corridors just as Hermione Granger entered them, anyway? It seemed as if there was some sort of radar that drew them together on moonlit nights.  
  
Having her collapse in front of him was what had put him in this foolish mood, he was certain. If he considered it logically, having a drunken female accost him and then pass out in front of him was not particularly attractive. The smell of stale alcohol was not pleasant. The way a person looked while unconscious was even less so; the look of the slack jaw, the feel of true weight trying to pick the rag-limp person up off the floor. All these were reasons to feel displeased, even slightly disgusted by such an event.  
  
Yet the remembrance of her warmth as he wrapped his arms around her, the feeling of her weight in his arms as he carried her caused a heady rush of endorphins to his brain. His brain still carried a picture of her sleeping face in the moonlight that wouldn't go away. It was all damnably gooey.  
  
He wished he'd just let her collapse at his feet. The cold of the stone floor would have woken her up sooner or later, he was sure.  
  
The problem, he felt, was hormones. Though he was a man rapidly approaching middle age and its attendant sexual decline, he had not had sex in at least five years- not with anyone else, anyway- and this lapse in sexual activity was undoubtedly the cause of the rush of testosterone now that an attractive young female was around. His body simply sensed a potential to procreate, and was doing its best to prompt him to do so. Knowing this didn't make the attraction any less potent, but at least he had something to rally against.  
  
Of course, he could just bed her, and that would be that. But Snape was a man who, if nothing else, had learnt to understand himself. He did not seek pleasure without respect, did not simply take without giving something in return. To sleep with Hermione Granger, he felt, would be a disaster, even pushing aside the possibility of an uncomfortable scene or two after the event- they were colleagues, after all, and, little as he liked to admit it to her face, Hermione was likely to have a position on the Hogwarts staff as long as she chose; they would have to look each other in the eye every day hence. It wasn't uncommon for grown adults to be able to have sex without having to turn it into a drama, but then again, it wasn't uncommon for the situation to turn the other way.  
  
Besides, something in Snape cringed away from the thought of bloodlessly seducing and bedding Hermione Granger. There seemed something... unclean about the thought. And that thought made him even more uncomfortable, so he pushed it away. It was definitely time for breakfast.  
  
Snape allowed himself a smile as he observed Poppy Pomfrey slink in to the dining hall just as he was finishing breakfast. She looked considerably less chipper than usual. Snape didn't bother to hide a smirk as he observed her timidly pouring a cup of coffee, holding her head in pain. She undoubtedly deserved it.  
  
He had observed what he liked to think of as the Three Witches- in the most derogatory sense of the term- stumbling their way to their rooms soon after he left Hermione. Their entrance had prevented him from pondering too much on his own actions, of which he was glad. Their antics had also provided considerable entertainment, as he was sure they would this morning, especially Hermione. Snape congratulated himself on stopping himself from leaving a vial of hangover solution by her bedside, an extremely uncharacteristic and tender act as it would have been. Her antics this morning would well satisfy his need for cruelty.  
  
Finishing his breakfast, Snape stood and left the table. Strange how the pain of others could put him in such a good mood, but then again they were the group who had repeatedly disturbed his peace the evening before. He frowned as he walked down the corridor. Yes; Hermione. Her little comment had prevented his sleep for at least two hours, so caught up was his insubordinate mind with it.  
  
Reaching his rooms, Snape sat at his desk for a while. Work, he thought, was the refuge of the desperate. He did, however, have to grade the papers for several classes, and it would do to reconsider the project for sixth-year Slytherins once more, even though he had gone over it fifty times. He was about to begin, when he noticed he had left the book he was currently reading somewhere- it must still be at the breakfast table. It was an essential text for his day's proposed work; it was impossible to simply wait for a house elf to return it. With clenched teeth, he stood and strode over to the door. It was obviously going to be one of *those* days.  
  
The corridors passed in a blur, and Snape barely had time to take points from the three students he came across before he found the doors to the great hall looming before him. With a brief detour, he entered the room from the side door- he had always avoided the grand entrance on weekends, it just wasn't worth it- coming across a somewhat bedraggled group of late- breakfasting staff. Immediately in front of him, Ailie, Hermione, Minerva and Freya Hooch were grouped up one end of the table, far away from the others. They hadn't noticed his entrance. Something about the situation caught his attention; they seemed a little too engrossed in conversation.  
  
'So, any more dreams about certain dark potions professors last night, Hermione?' asked Madam Hooch, buttering a piece of toast. Snape's ears perked up. So, the ladies had been gossiping about him last night, had they?  
  
'I don't know,' groaned Hermione. 'The first thing I knew this morning was waking up in some strange room. I have absolutely no idea how I got there.' Snape half-smiled at the obvious pain in her voice. There was nothing he enjoyed more than someone else's hangover.  
  
'Hmm...' said Ailie conspiratorially. 'Well, the last I saw of you last night was you approaching Snape, picking a fight with him, and him picking you up in his manly arms and striding down the corridor with you.' McGonagall gasped. Madam Hooch laughed uproariously, then clutched her head.  
  
'Ow,' said she, still smiling. 'So Snape finally gave in, did he?' Snape quirked an eyebrow. So. They had been discussing him.  
  
Hermione looked at the three of them, her eyes wide. 'I didn't- I mean, I would know, wouldn't I...?' Snape snorted inwardly. As if he would take advantage of a drunken child. A stray thought from the evening before slipped into his mind, but he pushed it aside.  
  
'I'm certain you would,' said McGonagall, although she looked a little uncertain.  
  
Snape narrowed his eyes. He had just had a brilliant idea, but he wasn't certain if he could pull it off. It would certainly teach these gossiping females a lesson. Clenching his teeth against a smile, he stepped forward.  
  
'Hermione,' he said softly, placing his hand on her shoulder and leaning over her. He looked deeply into her eyes as her startled glance met his.  
  
'Wh-what?' she asked, all confusion. Snape knelt down, seemingly ignoring the presence of all the others, and took her hand.  
  
'I'm sorry I had to leave so early this morning,' he said in a low voice, running his thumb over the back of her hand. 'I do hope you understand.' He was pleased to see her attempt to rally.  
  
'Uh, Professor Snape, this isn't-' Hermione began, but Snape cut her off with a low chuckle.  
  
'Professor?' he said, glancing down coyly. He was surprised he was actually pulling this off. The romantic hero was one of the few roles he had never been called upon to do. 'Have we not surpassed these... formalities?' he drawled. 'After all, last night, you were using my given name. I rather enjoyed the way you said it when you-'  
  
Hermione gasped, and opened and shut her mouth a few times before any sound came out. 'Sn- Severus,' she finally managed, in a choked voice. '*Please.*'  
  
Snape smiled wickedly at her. 'Exactly.' He looked down at the small hand resting in his big one, and traced a pattern over the back of it, noting the way her pulse jumped. He smiled inwardly, but kept his serious look in place. It wouldn't do to give his audience knowledge of his enjoyment. He ran his hand over hers once more, then put it back in her lap, looking once more into her eyes.  
  
'Hermione,' he said, 'I just wanted to tell you...' He rose. 'That next time you supposedly grown women feel in need of a gossip you would be treading a safer path by leaving my name out of it!' The chill in his voice would have made a snake shiver. He treated the other four to his most threatening look, strode over to his former seat, and, retrieving his book, swept out of the hall. He was pleasantly surprised that the ladies waited until he reached the door to burst into laughter.  
  
***  
  
Hermione heard the laughter of her colleagues dimly as she sat, fixedly staring at the remains of her breakfast. She idly reflected that it was a waste; there had been a whole sausage that she hadn't even touched. She doubted that the rest of those seated at the table would appreciate her throwing up during their meal, so she pushed her plate aside.  
  
She felt a touch at her shoulder, and snapped around to see Ailie staring at her concernedly. 'Are you all right?' the other girl asked.  
  
Hermione looked back down at her plate. 'No,' she answered. The other women calmed down; silence reigned in their corner for a few minutes. Finally, McGonagall opened her mouth to speak. Hermione cut her off.  
  
'No, I am *not* all right, Ailie. May I enquire as to how Severus Snape gained knowledge of my dreams? And you-' she indicated the other three, '-you just sat there, you didn't stop him from making me believe- from tricking me into thinking that-' she stuttered into silence. McGonagall reached over to pat her hand.  
  
'Well, my dear, we didn't quite know that it was a trick,' she said. Hermione glared at her. She opened her mouth to rebut, but could come up with nothing. With an angry snort, she rose from the table, throwing her napkin down.  
  
'No, Minerva, you're right. It's entirely his fault.' With a look of determination, she rounded the table and strode to the doors leading from the great hall.  
  
Behind her, Ailie was the first to break the wave of silence.  
  
'We can't let her go off and confront Snape,' she said quietly.  
  
'I don't see why not,' said Hooch, dropping her own napkin on her plate and rising.  
  
'But anything could happen!' said Ailie.  
  
'I do believe she's right,' said Poppy Pomfrey, with a considered look to the doors. 'Those two are a powder keg waiting to go off.'  
  
'And sex in the corridors is something the students do not need to see,' added Ailie, hastily rising and heading for the door, leaving a shocked trio to sit and stare after her.  
  
'I just meant that they'd have a rather nasty fight again,' said Poppy.  
  
'You know Ailie, she's a bit excitable,' said Hooch calmly, turning and heading for the door.  
  
'I'm sure Freya's right,' said McGonagall. 'Still, it might be best to arrange for Hermione and Severus to stay out of each other's way for a time. Hermione can have a terrible temper when she's roused.'  
  
'Yes, I remember with Fred Weasley,' said Poppy dryly, wiping her mouth and rising also. 'It took three months for his eyebrows to grow back.'  
  
'You have to admit that painting Hermione's cat green was a fairly silly thing to do,' said Minerva, following her old friend out the door.  
  
'He was always a fairly ugly cat anyway,' Poppy replied.  
  
Next chapter: Pining for the Fjords. 


	18. Pining for the fjords

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah.  
  
A/N: well, it's taken three-quarters of a bottle of wine and most of my weekend procrastinating, but here's the next chapter. Bon apetit.  
  
  
  
Chapter Eighteen-  
  
  
  
The self-satisfied glow of having humiliated three of his colleagues and the woman he was unwillingly soul-bound to lasted Snape through a dreary portion of morning before lunch. By the time the house-elves delivered his requested tray of food at noon, he had passed from reflection into action, and was fully embroiled in a new way of preparing Screaming Horsefeathers when Albus Dumbledore knocked on his door.  
  
'I thought you might like an invitation to dinner,' said the old man, looking around the room with some interest. Snape paid him no mind; Dumbledore rarely got to get his hands dirty with potions these days, and the man who had helped Nicholas Flamel construct the Philosopher's Stone could be pardoned for missing his alchemy.  
  
'An invitation, or a command?' Snape asked, adding a few drops of prickle juice to his experiment. The liquid in the cauldron turned a pleasant shade of blue, and Snape made a note to attempt to change it in the final product, if possible- he hated blue.  
  
'Never a command, my friend. Some of us just appreciate seeing your smiling face at meals.' Snape groaned. No, it wasn't a command. It was a polite request. He hated polite requests from Albus Dumbledore- the old wizard always looked so damned disappointed if he was rude in return. He hated the old wizard's patented puppy-dog look, and Minerva was always sure to snub him at the next staff meeting. It was all so very wearying.  
  
With a silent sigh, he rose, and looked at his headmaster. 'Of course, I could not refuse such a request, Albus,' he said as gracefully as he could manage- or almost. He quirked an eyebrow at the older wizard. 'Do I have time to complete my experiment before my presence is required?'  
  
'Of course, my friend, of course. I'll just wait for you here, shall I?' Dumbledore smilingly walked over to the back of the room and began to look interestedly at some of the items in Snape's store cupboard, making exclamations of delight now and then. Obviously, he was leaving no chance for escape. Snape sighed again. He would never be able to figure out why Albus thought it was a sign of disease if a person simply wanted some solitude, but the old man regularly made sure that his potions master missed no more than one meal at the head table, as one warding off influenza might consume oranges.  
  
Snape reflected that if now wasn't a moment in which it wouldn't be justified to roll his eyes, there never would be, and deftly finished off his experiment.  
  
Walking beside the headmaster to the great hall, the potions master concluded that dinner need not be a complete annoyance- after all, he would have the pleasure of seeing a discomfited Hermione Granger again, which would possibly make up for having to listen to Minerva berate him for this morning's incident all through dinner. It surprised him little that the woman was head of Gryffindor; she behaved predictably like a lioness when one of her favourites was injured at his hand.  
  
He entered the hall directly behind the headmaster, making his way up to the head table. Snape was a little surprised to note the cold nods he received from Madams Hooch and Sprout, and especially Poppy Pomfrey, who usually had a warm greeting for him at meal times. He seated himself at his usual place beside Dumbledore, slightly perplexed when even Filibus Flitwick, seated to his left, turned his back on him to pursue a conversation with Sybil Trelawney. And of a blushing Hermione Granger there was no sign, unfortunately.  
  
With a mental shrug, Snape set to eating his dinner. It was not until dessert, as Albus moved down the end of the table to talk to someone, that the reason for his cold reception was explained by Minerva.  
  
'I certainly hope you're happy with yourself, Severus,' she said, settling into Albus's chair and favouring him with a disapproving glance.  
  
'Certainly, Minerva,' Snape said, unconcernedly tasting his dessert. It was a coffee sorbet- his favourite. His attitude seemed to irritate his companion more.  
  
'Such inappropriate behaviour towards such a young girl, Severus,' she continued, her Scottish lilt all the stronger for her ire. Snape suppressed a smile.  
  
'I hardly think it was inappropriate, Minerva. On the contrary, considering Miss Granger decided to bandy my name about your inebriated circle, I do believe that she got off lightly.'  
  
'I'm not talking about merely this morning, Severus, and you well know it. That you would give an innocent girl a dreaming potion without her permission...'  
  
'I would hardly call her innocent,' Snape drawled. 'She did it to me first.'  
  
Minerva raised an irritated eyebrow, and dimly Snape reflected that she must have been around him for too long to have caught the expression. 'That is no matter, Severus. You are older; you are the one who should know better.'  
  
'Are you saying that the Gryffindors you raise are incapable of defending themselves?'  
  
'Of course not. But the way you have been behaving is completely inappropriate toward a staff member. You know that.'  
  
'Last time I checked, Minerva, Hermione Granger was counted as a member of this staff as well. Perhaps this is a conversation you should be having with her.'  
  
'That would be difficult, Severus, considering she left for London a few hours ago.' Minerva glared at Snape, and it was only with strength of will that Snape refrained from reflecting the expression back at her.  
  
So, the little Gryffindor has run away, has she? he reflected inwardly. A frown marred his features.  
  
'If one of your precious ex-students hasn't the maturity to face an awkward situation then it is no fault of mine,' he said, fairly slamming down his spoon and rising from the table. Without a backward glance, he swept toward a side exit and into the corridor.  
  
As his feet consumed the distance to his dungeons, Snape reflected that it was entirely without merit that Gryffindors were credited with so much courage. All previous evidences to the contrary were, of course, forgotten.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Hermione paced along the corridor outside Minerva's transfiguration classroom, hoping that dinner would be over soon. She needed a text she knew was in Minerva's office and was playing on a chance that her old teacher would visit her office briefly after the evening meal, or that she could catch her on her way to her rooms.  
  
The anger she had felt that morning had not dissipated, but she had seen the wisdom of Ailie's advice in journeying to London for their research trip without further delay. Though one part of her wanted to hex him five ways to Christmas, another part of Hermione had absolutely no wish for another embarrassing encounter with Severus Snape. The very fact that he knew she had dreamt about him made her embarrassed beyond belief- yes, he was the one that had given her the potion that had made her do so, yes, she knew he had had a similar dream about her, but that made no difference. But he couldn't possibly have intended that she dream about him. And, besides, she was a much more caring and understanding person than Snape. She would never make reference to such a personal matter; he already had.  
  
Hermione bit her lip in frustration at the thought that it might be tomorrow before she would be safely out of Hogwarts. Now, that was a sentence that she never thought she'd think, she reflected with a rueful smile. Hogwarts had always been a safe haven, until now. It even was now, really, it was just the fact that it housed the very man she most wanted to avoid that made it so dangerous.  
  
If only Ron and Ginny hadn't chosen today to visit their mother! She and Ailie had been packed and ready to go since this morning, but it had been then that she had remembered to floo Ginny and Ron, who were sharing a flat in London, to see if it was okay if the two girls stayed for a few days. They couldn't afford a hotel. She already knew that neither Weasleys would mind, but her sense of propriety couldn't allow her to leave until she had their permission. Turning up on their doorstep would just not do.  
  
The message that came back by the floo (answering-parchments were at present all the craze; Hermione thought it quite boring, seeing as the muggle world had discovered the joys of answering machines in the seventies) was that the two Weasley children were paying their respects to their dear Mama, and would call back, if she would care to leave a message?  
  
An owl had hence been dispatched, but would not have arrived at The Burrow until at least early afternoon, and if they decided to answer via Errol, who was still going at the wise old age of a hundred and twenty-two (owl years), then they wouldn't get an answer until next week.  
  
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and reprimanded herself. Of course Ron and Ginny would reply by return of owl, and of course they would agree to house herself and Ailie for a few days. They would probably be delighted; neither of them had seen her in a few months, and Harry had probably told them about the new arrival at Hogwarts (Hermione hoped he hadn't told Ron about the rather personal scene he had walked in on between herself and Sirius; Ron could be annoyingly medieval about some things). She could expect that answer late this evening, and they would probably be in London late tomorrow morning. She would have to just avoid a certain darkly brooding Potions professor until then.  
  
*Speak of the devil and he shall come,* thought Hermione as a disturbingly familiar figure rounded a corner at the end of the corridor. She didn't bother to suppress a sigh. Of course he would turn down this corridor. Her luck wouldn't run it any other way.  
  
Sternly she squelched any remnant feeling from her dream and steeled herself for him to pass by, but he didn't appear to have that object in mind. In fact, he seemed to be headed straight for her, a velvety black torpedo aimed at her rather small battleship. She clenched her jaw and prepared for the inevitable.  
  
To her surprise he attempted to feign disinterest until he had reached level with her, upon which he appeared to finally make up his mind, and approach her. She waited with as much magnanimity as she could muster as he stood before her for the customary two beats, which she had recently realised he used to make his quarry uneasy.  
  
'Miss Granger,' Snape said, raising an eyebrow. 'I am surprised to see you. Minerva said that you were-' the words 'running away' hung silently in the air between them, but instead he voiced, 'absenting yourself.'  
  
'I was. I am,' Hermione said, hoping that the extreme beating of her heart didn't show. She clenched her teeth. There was no way that she was going to let this- this malignant bat intimidate her. With this resolution, she added, 'Though I fail to see that it's any business of yours.'  
  
A spark of anger flitted through Snape's eyes, but was quickly suppressed. 'It would not be, if you had not been scheduled for your fifth year potions class next week,' he said. 'But excuse me if I assumed that you would be taking your responsibilities in this school seriously.'  
  
Hermione clamped her teeth down even harder to prevent a howl of anger coming out. 'On the contrary, I take my responsibilities very seriously, Professor Snape,' she said in as cold a voice as she could muster. It turned out very cold indeed, much to her own surprise. 'I have been instructed by Albus that my continued research into the cure for the bond you inadvertently inflicted upon Ailie would be most beneficial to you and, by association, the school, though I cannot really make the link to the latter reasoning.' Anger firmly entrenched in her veins, Hermione was gratified to see a touch of heightened colour in Snape's cheeks, knowing that for once her shot had hit home. All too quickly, however, her opponent regained his composure.  
  
'You have an overhigh estimation of your own value, Miss Granger,' he said.  
  
Hermione decided that she was in for a penny, in for a pound, and said the first word that rose to her lips. 'Bollocks.' Inwardly, she smiled at the remarkably Hooch-ian phrase. The previous evening had not been without its effect. 'Besides, it's more than you're willing to do.'  
  
'And so we come back to this,' he snorted. 'It amazes me, Miss Granger, that you can find no original argument.'  
  
'I say it because it's true!' Hermione shouted. Realising where she was, she swiftly looked around, and gratefully noted that there were no students present. 'You were the one to imprison Ailie in her own body. You are the one at ease in this world, with the means to research a cure. And yet you do nothing, Snape; nothing at all.' For a second, she let her complete and utter distaste for the man, prompted by the facts she had mentioned, flicker over her face. The reaction in Snape was more than she had anticipated.  
  
Grabbing her arm, Snape propelled Hermione into the transfigurations classroom. The rush left Hermione slightly breathless; she leant against a desk in shock as he stood before her.  
  
'Insolent girl,' he said, staring down at her. His eyes were blazing with fury. 'What makes you think that I have not attempted to extricate myself from this abominable mess? What makes you think that I have not performed my own research?'  
  
This time, it was Hermione's turn to sneer. 'What makes me think? Because I share rooms with Ailie, that's why.' He didn't know it wasn't absolute truth. 'She would have told me. She would have known. You haven't done anything, Snape.' She noted the anger in Snape's eyes, burning with a slow flame, but this didn't heed her. Hermione had finally caught Snape out on a point he couldn't defend. 'You haven't even tried. You've just acted in your usual fashion, assuming others will correct your cruel and stupid mistakes, just like they've always done-'  
  
'You little mudblood wench.' The phrase shot from his lips before either of them could stop it. Hermione was startled to see an unfamiliar expression dart through his eyes- regret- before her hand struck out and caught him smartly on the cheek.  
  
In the instants of time that it happened in, some part of Hermione reflected that it was proof of her muggle heritage that she went for a slap to the face, instead of placing a curse on him. It probably would have been more effective that way, she thought, as her hand connected with his jaw with such a force that his head was actually thrown to the side, like the way it happened in movies. There was no doubt that a slap had dramatic effect, she considered, the shock of jolted nerves travelling up her arm as her hand rested on his slightly roughened cheek for an infinitesimal portion of a second before it bounced back, driven by force. But, all in all, a full body-bind, for instance, would have prevented his hands coming up, grasping her upper arms, and propelling her against the nearest wall.  
  
What happened next was like an unspoken conversation, on the most part.* I didn't appreciate that slap, Miss Granger,* his body language was saying to her as his hands pushed her harshly up against the wall. *Ever so sorry,* hers seemed to say, *but I really don't like being thrown up against a wall, therefore forgive this dainty foot I stamp as hard as I can down on your right foot.* *Not in the least,* his seemed to answer,* but please don't take offense at the way I jam my entire body up against yours- just to prevent any nasty accidents, you know.*  
  
From there on in, there didn't seem to be much of a conversation at all. Hermione was more than aware of the way his body felt against hers, even as she struggled as viciously as she could against it. There might be some part of her observing the incident logically, but most of her was still furious at him.  
  
The curious thing was, that part of her observed to itself, the more she struggled, the more he reacted, so that eventually they were so hard pressed for room between them that Einstein's theory about the whole atom thing would need a serious rethink.  
  
Time seemed to slow down even more, their hurried breaths coming in unison. The unthinking part of Hermione tried another wriggle, this time pressing her right hip against his left to gain some leverage. *Obviously,* the thinking part of her concluded, *I had nothing whatsoever to do with that particular move.* In reaction, Snape, whose hands had been required to restrain her own behind her back, pressed her even harder against the wall, so that both of their hands were painfully trapped against the wall and a... well, a soft place, really. Unfortunately, Hermione's hands were against the wall, leaving Snape's resting on the soft place.  
  
Hermione gave a soft sound of frustration, which seemingly left Snape with the next move. This, apparently, involved him leaning down and, with a disturbing breath against her ear, closing his teeth around the sensitive lobe, giving it a gentle nip.  
  
The feel of his teeth closing on her skin seemed to last an eternity. In it, Hermione felt that if she could have breathed, it would have only made her heart pound faster, and as it was currently beating a fine Mexican festiva against his chest it was just as well that she didn't cause it to explode with even more intake to pump through. Not that Snape's own heart wasn't up to the contest, thundering as it was against her right breast. The confirmation that he did, indeed, have a heart was filed away neatly in her brain.  
  
As all eternities, this one came to an abrupt end with a discreet cough from the doorway. It took further eternities for them both to register it, a few more for them to look at each other in horror, and even more for Snape to release her and step back. Hermione, with as much recognition of time as she had had in the past few moments, walked as calmly as she could past her old professor, past the desks and, with a nod to Albus and Minerva standing at the doorway, hit full sprint as she exited the door.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape reflected that it wasn't to the old wizard's credit that Dumbledore's expression only twinkled while Minerva's expressed shock, disapproval and a pinch of I-told-you-so. Not giving them the satisfaction of straightening his ever-so-slightly rumpled clothes, Snape began to walk to the door.  
  
Dumbledore let him get halfway out the door before clearing his throat.  
  
'A word, Severus, if you have time,' he said.  
  
Snape was sorely tempted to say that he didn't have the time, but knew that the old wizard would corner him sooner or later, and decided to get it over with.  
  
With a deep breath, he turned to his two colleagues and began, 'Yes, Albus, I understand that it was totally inappropriate behaviour to force another member of staff up against a wall in such a way; no, it will not happen again, and yes, I will make damned sure to stay out of Miss Granger's way in future. Not that it makes any difference, but she did strike me first, and therefore my actions were justified.'  
  
Albus twinkled the harder for it and simply replied, 'I was just going to ask you if you would accompany us for a nightcap, my dear friend, but I must say that it's relieving that you would unburden yourself this way.'  
  
A tide of red clouded Snape's vision for a moment, and he did the best he could to fight it down. 'Albus,' he said in a controlled voice, 'go to the devil.' With composure it had taken years to master, Snape turned on his heel and stalked his way toward the dungeons, steadfastly blocking out the chuckle that echoed behind him.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
The door hit the wall with a bang, but for the first time in years, Hermione did not care. This was more important than dented walls.  
  
She walked back and forth in her chambers, in a state of shock. She couldn't believe what she had just done. No-one would have believed her, had she attempted to tell someone. It was just so wrong.  
  
To have attacked Professor Snape! She had *attacked* Professor Snape. She had attacked Professor *Snape.* No, no matter what word she emphasised, the outcome was dire. To have physically attacked him, slapped him in the face! Of course, he had deserved it. She hoped. It wasn't that he had cursed her, or anything... Well, he had called her a mudblood, but many people had in her lifetime. The insult had faded over the years, and she hadn't had actually physically attacked someone because of it. Her father's voice resounded in her ears, with reprimands from childhood- *there is nothing a physical fight will solve where words won't do, Hermione.*  
  
But the way he had looked at her- surely there was some rule somewhere that he wasn't allowed to look at her like that? Like he was licking her with his eyes.  
  
So she had slapped him, which had been hugely satisfactory. And he, in return, had shoved her up against a wall. And so she had stomped on his foot, and tried to hit him, except that had been really hard because his body was pressed up so tight against hers and it had been even harder to move than to think properly. And then he- Hermione blushed at the memory. It had hurt, but it had hurt good.  
  
This just wasn't right, she was sure. Pain wasn't supposed to feel good. What was wrong with her?  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Down in the dungeons, Severus Snape also paced. The whole situation smacked of insanity. The argument- the way she had reacted- the way he had treated her...  
  
Snape made to bite his lip in frustration, and stopped. Biting his lip only made him think more of her, and how immensely pleasurable it had felt to have the soft skin of her earlobe between his teeth.  
  
Settling for a very deep breath instead, Snape ceased his prowling of his chambers and threw himself down into a chair. What had he been thinking? The more pertinent point was, why hadn't he been thinking? The second his eyes had captured her in the corridor, he had been out of control. And once the sting of her hand had penetrated his cheek, he had been purely, idiotically, completely insane.  
  
He had wanted- he was afraid he knew exactly what he wanted. Oh, *gods.*  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Ailie burst into her rooms, and for the first time in her existence Hermione was positively delighted to have a guest enter in such a way. The paper Ailie waved in her hand was a sublime distraction.  
  
'They said we could come!' Ailie said, smiling brightly. 'We can be off first thing tomorrow morning! Isn't that great?' Her confident stride missed a step as she took in the expression on her friend's ashen face.  
  
'No,' said Hermione, her voice without expression. 'Let's go tonight.'  
  
With a feeling that it would be dangerous to argue, Ailie nodded, and went to her rooms to fetch her bags. There would be time enough for questions later. 


	19. Dreams of London

Chapter nineteen  
  
Ailie sat and sipped tea while looking around her. Having never seen much of houses and such before she came to Hogwarts, this tiny little London flat was a mystery to her. The rooms at Hogwarts were spacious and elegant, as they should be. Here, the ceilings were absurdly low, the rooms cramped and awkward, and someone had seen fit to paint the entire flat in the same drab shade of lime green. Why would anyone want to live in such a place?  
  
Hermione's reaction to the flat had been completely different from hers. The other girl had exclaimed over the wonderful way the two Weasleys had furnished the place, and the chosen location of the flat. Ailie, knowing she was operating in an alien world, had followed her friend's lead, but it still puzzled her.  
  
She took another long draught of tea and almost sighed with pleasure. Ever since they had left, she had felt Snape trying to enter her mind, and refusing him entry always gave her a headache. She hadn't had time to ask Hermione what had prompted the early- or should she say late- departure for London, but, judging by the annoyance flowing from Snape's side of the bond, it surely had to have something to do with him.  
  
Ailie smiled at something Ginny was saying. She already liked the young girl with dark red hair. From the photos Hermione had shown her, Ailie had been expecting a shy young girl with a great mop of hair, but sitting in front of her was someone in charge of herself, with sleek, short- cropped hair and a sophisticated air about her. Obviously, when Hermione had been burying herself in work and study, Virginia Weasley had been growing up.  
  
Her brother, Ron, was also an easy person to like. The close friendship between Hermione and the young man was obvious. The two had hugged and cavorted like puppies on seeing each other when they first arrived, Ailie and Ginny standing by with amused looks on their faces. Even now, their heads were bent together in close conversation as they caught up.  
  
At that moment, Hermione looked up and smiled at her.  
  
'Sorry, Ailie, I was just filling Ron in on everything that's been happening at Hogwarts.' Ailie shook her head.  
  
'Everything?' Ailie teased, but controlled her smile at Hermione's glare. Luckily, the moment seemed to pass without Ron's notice. Hermione stood to help Ginny with the teacups, and Ailie turned her attention to Ron. In the rush of arriving there had been little time to get to know each other, but Ailie felt that she knew him already from the stories Hermione had shared, and the tales Harry had told over Christmas. Neither had told her that he was this cute, but that could be forgiven. It was a nice surprise to find that, after months of older professors and teenagers, she would be spending some time in the presence of a handsome young man. She turned on a little charm, and was pleased to see Ron react. It was nice to stretch those flirting muscles again.  
  
'It's weird to think of you all back at Hogwarts,' Ron said, shifting in his chair. 'And I think I'll never get used to Hermione teaching,' he added with a grin.  
  
Ailie smiled back at him. 'It's been a very short time since you were all at school together. I suppose it must seem like she's in the ranks of the enemy.'  
  
'I just can't picture Hermione giving out detentions.' His brow furrowed for a second. 'Although I know she probably wanted to give us some during our final year when we were too noisy in the common room.' Hermione came back in the room at that point, and glared briefly at Ron, who gave her a cheeky smile. 'Well, you did, 'Mione. You were terrible when it came to studying for our NEWTs.'  
  
'If I hadn't been so terrible, you might not have passed your NEWTs, Ronald Weasley, and don't you forget it,' Hermione said, and sat on the edge of his chair. Ron smiled up at her. The obvious love between the two was warming to Ailie, who hadn't had much chance since Christmas to see such a relaxed Hermione. The thought gave her an evil idea.  
  
Ginny rose to help them prepare for bed. The hour was quite late, as it had been ten o'clock or so before they had even received the owl announcing the Weasley's acceptance. The three girls would squeeze themselves into Ginny's room; Ron had flirtingly offered for Ailie to share his room, but had been glared down by his friend and sister.  
  
Soon enough, beds were sorted out and everyone was ready to retire for the evening. Ginny sleepily said goodnight and crawled into her room; she would have to get up quite early the next day for work and was not used to such late nights. As she watched Ron and Hermione say goodnight, Ailie relaxed her mind a little. There it was; a little slivery feeling, like having a fish swim through your hands. Smiling, she finished getting ready for bed. *That would teach him to give me an evening-long headache,* she thought.  
  
The room was dark as Hermione climbed into the makeshift bed beside her. Ailie searched the dimness for her friend's expression.  
  
'He's sorry, you know,' she whispered. She smiled at the confusion clearly marked in the shadows of Hermione's face. 'I don't know about what, but he definitely is.'  
  
Hermione 'harrumph'ed into the darkness. 'The day Severus Snape is sorry about anything is the day Minerva paints herself blue and rides naked through the great hall at dinnertime.'  
  
Ailie lay back and smiled. It occurred to her that Hermione hadn't needed to ask who.  
  
***  
  
The next morning found the girls enjoying a pleasant breakfast alone. Ginny, working toward her degree as a mediwitch, had taken some part-time work at a potions analysis lab to help with the rent, and Ron was happily ensconced in his job as an assistant in a shop for magical creatures in Diagon Alley. The girls had had a pleasant sleep-in and were busy working out their plans for the day.  
  
'You can't plan to spend the entire day in the library of the British Museum,' Ailie said despairingly. Apparently Hermione was taking all-too seriously the idea that the trip was to research a cure for Ailie.  
  
'I have a lot of work to do, Ailie. And I need to get back to Hogwarts by at least Friday.'  
  
'But Minerva said you were fine to stay until next Monday!' Ailie said, exasperated. Part of the plan had been to give Hermione a break from all things stressful, but the woman herself seemed to have different ideas.  
  
Hermione shook her head, finishing off the last piece of her fruit salad and rising to place the bowl in the sink. 'I know that's what Minerva said, but I have my potions group to tutor on Thursday. If I haven't found something by then, I can always come back, I promise.' She gave Ailie a small smile, and set to washing the dishes.  
  
Ailie decided to try one last track. 'But I have no-one to show me around London,' she said in a small voice. 'I was looking forward to it.'  
  
'Oh, Ailie,' said Hermione. 'I'm so sorry. I didn't think of it, honestly. But don't worry, we can do some exploring some other time. If I work hard enough today, we might have an hour or two free before we go back.'  
  
Ailie rolled her eyes, knowing she had failed. Well, studying, from all she knew of Hermione, was a kind of relaxation for the girl. Besides, the last excuse she had tried was really of no consequence. Ailie had been expected to look after herself in most ways since she was fourteen, and was looking forward to exploring a new city on her own.  
  
Her friend left a few instructions as to muggle transport and directions, and some muggle and wizard money. Ailie, with a shrug, pocketed both directions and money and retired to the bedroom to prepare.  
  
The next few days formed into a regular routine. Hermione would rise early, and depart with Ginny and Ron as they left for work. Ailie would rise, prepare a leisurely breakfast, and wander about town entertaining herself. Both Weasley siblings would return to the flat at around six in the evening, when Ailie felt comfortable to return herself, and then the three would wait out the time until Hermione would force herself away from the vast library of the museum, which was usually a couple of hours later. It developed that the three non-bookworms would trek down to one of the local pubs for the duration, Ron having professed an ambition to introduce Ailie to as many London pubs as possible during her stay. Hermione would follow later, a mock frown on her face at finding her friends in a den of iniquity.  
  
Their last night before being due to leave, in accordance with Hermione's self-imposed schedule, the Weasleys had put their foot down and commanded an entire evening with themselves as hosts. As Hermione had found a very promising track on her second day of research and would have enough information soon to go on with, it seemed probable that the plan would go forward without a hitch.  
  
Ailie dressed with some anticipation. Ginny had mentioned something about a 'night-club', which appeared to be a venue for dancing. Ailie missed dancing; her life in the coven had been filled with joy and ritual. Ailie was glad she'd been able to explore London; she had at least some idea of what would look strange in her choice of clothing, and Ginny had promised to make sure she didn't have anything askew. There were more differences between her own culture and those at Hogwarts and London than Ailie ever would have expected. She looked at the clock on the wall, worrying that Hermione wouldn't be home in time for their proposed night to begin. She had said that she would try, but knowing Hermione...  
  
Ron handed her a cool drink as she entered the living room, and smiled at the worried look on her face.  
  
'Don't worry,' he said. 'Hermione will be here. The number of times Harry and I physically carried her out of the library when she wasn't having enough fun made her scared of being late for parties.' He grinned. 'Did I tell you how gorgeous you look yet?'  
  
Ailie chuckled. 'No. The same to you.' She appraised Ron thoughtfully. 'Hermione never said you dress so well.' She was satisfied to see Ron blush.  
  
Just then there were sounds of someone arriving at the door, and Hermione stumbled in under the weight of scrolls of paper, books and parchment. From the smile on her face, Ailie could see that the day's research had been successful.  
  
'My theory was right!' she said, dumping her burdens on a nearby chair. 'I knew that the process of integration between the gestational period of tanglevines and sneering mugglewort would-'  
  
Ron held up a hand, silencing her. 'Herm, even if we could understand what you're talking about, now's not the time. We're supposed to be relaxing, remember?'  
  
Hermione gave him a rueful smile. 'I'm sorry. It's just so interesting. I think I've got enough research now to go on with, but there's so much more-' She caught Ron's look and stopped. 'Okay.'  
  
Ginny's head popped out of her bedroom, the frown on her face clearing as she saw Hermione.  
  
'There you are. Get your butt in here, 'Mione. I need your help deciding what to wear.' With a puzzled smile, Hermione headed for the bedroom. Ailie sighed happily and sat back in her chair. This was looking to be a good evening.  
  
In the bedroom, Hermione looked around as Ginny threw even more clothes out of the closet. Tops and skirts were strewn everywhere.  
  
'You were never this messy at school,' she said wonderingly. Ginny gave her a smile from the wardrobe, where she was sorting through a swathe of dresses.  
  
'I was never this messy at home either. Mum would've had a fit. It's great having my own space.' She held up a short black dress for consideration. 'What do you think of this one?'  
  
'Won't you be cold?' Hermione asked, idly looking through the clothes on the bed. Ginny scrunched up her nose.  
  
'Not really, but I guess you're right. Maybe this one,' she decided, picking out a green outfit. Hermione politely turned away as Ginny changed.  
  
'What are you going to wear?' Ginny asked from behind her. 'We don't want to clash.'  
  
'I don't know. I didn't really bring anything, but I can always transfigure something,' Hermione said, turning around. 'Wow, Ginny, you look great!' Her friend was now encased in a dark green dress that flowed down to mid-calf, a watching shirt over the top. It went wonderfully with her dark red hair. Hermione tilted her head to the side. 'I didn't say before, but I'm jealous of your hair. I'm glad you didn't dye it any other colour. Red suits you.'  
  
Ginny laughed. 'No, I couldn't get rid of the red, but at least I could make it darker than the Weasley Orange. Now, missy, your turn. What are you going to transfigure?'  
  
Hermione looked down at her case, her brow furrowed in thought. Normally, she would have simply chosen a blouse and skirt, but was feeling daring after spending days with only books for company. Besides, both Ailie and Ginny were dressed attractively, and for once Hermione felt like competing. Deftly, she picked up a t-shirt she had packed, and waved her wand at it. With a little concentration, it became a short-sleeved dress, of a plain style, but made of black satin with small navy blue flowers embroidered on it. Ginny's eyes widened when she saw it.  
  
'I really wish I was as good at transfiguration as you,' she said. 'I'd never have to buy clothes again.' Hermione gave a shrug, and began to change as Ginny left for the bathroom.  
  
As the other girl left the room, Hermione paused. She felt like feeling special tonight. She contemplated her mostly-naked figure in the mirror. She usually favoured nice, but practical underwear, but tonight... with a wave of her wand, Hermione quickly transformed her bra and panties into a matching set of blue satin. She smiled as the bra changed shape slightly, supporting her more fully and adding a little cleavage. That was more like it. Quickly, she put on her newly-transfigured dress and searched around for some shoes she could also transform.  
  
By the time Ginny came back in the room, Hermione was almost ready. She stood tall in her high-heels, made to match her dress. She had put her hair up in one of the styles Ailie had shown her, a loose bun with some of the curls tumbling down. The first few times she had tried it, Hermione had felt a little self-conscious, worrying that her hair looked simply messy, but the admiring glances she had attracted had made her relax somewhat. Ginny looked her up and down with approval.  
  
'You look absolutely great, Hermione,' she said. She nodded toward the door. 'The bathroom's free, if you want it.'  
  
'Thanks,' Hermione said as she headed to the door. 'Oh, Gin, I didn't bring any makeup- do you mind...?' At the other's nod, Hermione happily made her way to the bathroom.  
  
When she stepped into the living room a few minutes later, Hermione was looking well above average and was aware of it. For once, she thought as she caught Ron's wide grin, she could feel like a normal girl.  
  
The foursome headed off for an Italian restaurant nearby, a tiny place that Ginny assured did wonderful pizza. After a quick and enjoyable meal, they moved on to a nearby nightclub.  
  
Hermione accepted the drink Ron handed her and looked around the place. On Ginny's advice, they had gone to a muggle nightclub- wizards, according to the young girl, had a lot over muggles, but their taste in music tended to be pretty bad. Remembering dances at Hogwarts, which were practically Hermione's only experience with such occasions, Hermione was inclined to trust Ginny's judgement, though it was strange to think of a Weasley having more experience with the muggle world than a muggle-born.  
  
Beside her, Ginny and Ailie were in deep conversation. As Ron returned to the bar for his own drink, Hermione turned to them enquiringly.  
  
'I was just telling Ailie the strategy for a place like this,' Ginny said smilingly. 'The trick is, not to stick to Ron too closely. For me, it's obvious that he's my brother, and most guys seem to get scared off by that. But if a guys saw him hovering around you two, he'd assume that Ron was boyfriend for one of you.'  
  
'And that's such a bad thing?' asked Ailie teasingly. Hermione raised a mental eyebrow.  
  
'Why would we need to worry about that?' Hermione asked, taking a sip of her drink.  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. 'Because if Ron's around, there's absolutely no chance of pashing a guy!' She caught Hermione's incredulous look. 'That's part of the fun, 'Mione.'  
  
Hermione gave her a dark look. 'Gin, you sound like Lavender and Parvarti.'  
  
Ginny shrugged. 'Not really. I'm not saying you have to get engaged to the guy. Just kiss him.' Hermione shook her head, but caught Ailie's eye.  
  
'Kissing is an important part of bonding, Hermione,' the other girl said, a mischievous look in her eye. 'Anyway, not everyone can be satisfied with wonderful dreams as you do.'  
  
Ginny raised her eyebrow at them. 'What sort of wonderful dreams?'  
  
'It was not 'wonderful', Ailie, and you know it.' She glared at both of her friends. The moment was saved by Ron's return.  
  
They managed to work their way to a table in the corner, from whence both Ginny and Ailie were asked to dance. It was impossible to talk properly in the club, and soon Ron himself got up to dance. Hermione stared into her drink, feeling morose. The thought of dancing in front of all these strangers seemed daunting. She gave herself a mental shake. This was not what she was out for. No wonder she dreamt about Snape; she was beginning to act like him.  
  
With resolve, Hermione sacrificed the safety of the table. It took her a while to locate her friends in the crowd. Both Ginny and Ailie were happily dancing with a group of boys they seemed to have found, and Ron looked distinctly like he didn't want to be disturbed. Hermione smiled wryly. She may have decided to join the living, but they didn't want to join her.  
  
She shrugged, and moved toward the bar. There was more to do than dance; she could do that later. Right now, she was inclined to spend some hard-earned money on one of the nasty-looking cocktails she had seen some people carrying.  
  
While she waited for her drink- the bartender, a nice-looking young boy, had recommended something called a Midori Shaker, whatever that was- Hermione noticed the man standing at her elbow. Looking up, she noted that he looked as lost in the club as she felt. He glanced at her, and she gave him a shy smile.  
  
After a few minutes, he turned to her again.  
  
'Why aren't you dancing?' he asked loudly in her ear. Hermione shrugged, then indicated the bar.  
  
'I'm getting warmed up for it,' she said, then noted his questioning look, and repeated her sentence in his ear. He smiled and nodded.  
  
'Me too,' he said, pointing at his own drink. At that moment, the smiling bartender handed Hermione a canister with some sort of green liquid in it. She looked at it in confusion. The man beside her laughed.  
  
'It's a shaker. You're supposed to drink it straight out of the cocktail shaker.' Hermione felt her heart sink a little at the revelation; it would be just her luck to spill the drink all over herself. Besides, elbows in this club seemed to make anything but a small glass dangerous to drink out of. She was still pondering her options when the man reached over the bar and picked out a glass. Hermione's eyes widened slightly at the behaviour, but took the glass with a grateful smile.  
  
'It's okay,' the man said, noticing her look. 'I work here sometimes.' Hermione smiled and nodded. Timidly, she poured some of her drink out and tasted it. It wasn't bad, she reflected; a watermelon flavour. She smiled her thanks at the man.  
  
'My name's Milton,' he said, bending again to her ear.  
  
'Mine's Hermione,' she replied. His eyes widened in recognition.  
  
'Isn't that a character in Shakespeare's A Winter's-'  
  
'A Winter's Tale, yes,' Hermione replied with a rueful grin. 'Don't ask.' With two dentists as parents, Hermione had never been able to figure out where the sudden passion for romanticism had come from.  
  
Milton looked around at the crowded bar, his added height giving him an advantage over Hermione.  
  
'Hey, would you like to sit down? It's kind of noisy here,' he asked. A momentary flutter of panic exploded in Hermione's chest. It sounded as though he was thinking of trying to pick her up. With a silent sigh, Hermione berated herself; wasn't she the one who, at Christmas, had been bemoaning her lack of a social life?  
  
With a smile, Hermione nodded and followed him through the crowd to a table in back of the bar, a quiet spot where speaking was, at least, possible.  
  
Time passed smoothly as they talked. Hermione was surprised to find that Milton was studying the Romance languages at university; they spent an hour talking about the different translations of Beowulf, which Hermione had briefly studied during a literature course in college. They were well into their third drinks by the time Ginny, Ailie and Ron found them.  
  
'I didn't know there was this little nook, here,' said Ginny, looking around appreciatively. Only slightly embarrassed at seemingly being caught out doing the thing she had earlier ridiculed them for, Hermione introduced Milton and motioned for her friends to take a seat. They firmly refused.  
  
'We've decided it's time you came to dance,' said Ron, obviously well on the way to inebriation. He reached out a hand and began to pull her up.  
  
Hermione glanced at Milton. She had really begun to like him in the space of their talk, and didn't want to lose his company. Daringly she reached out for his hand, gladdened by the look of pleasure that the move brought in his eyes.  
  
'Dance?' she asked, and pulled him to his feet. His hand warmed hers as the group made their way to the dance floor.  
  
Dropping it as they all formed a circle to dance, Hermione reflected on how nice it was to have such casual physical contact with a man. There hadn't been the nerve-wracking pleasurable tension she remembered the first time Victor had taken her hand, though that occasion had occurred in the library after two hours of talking, each waiting shyly for the other to make the first move. No, it wasn't that lovely anticipation of a crush, but it was nice all the same.  
  
When a slow song came on and Milton pulled her into his arms, Hermione went with ease, enjoying the feel of dancing so close with a man. She didn't notice Ailie's careful eyes on her.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape twisted in the bed, feeling the blessed cool of untouched linen as his legs slammed to opposite sides of the bed. It took him a few moments to realise that he was awake, sweating coldly into the night. The remnants of dream clung to him, tying him down to the uncontrolled emotion and torturous pain of his nightmare.  
  
Sitting up, Snape frowned into the night. He shouldn't have been dreaming at all, having finally given in and taken a dreamless sleep potion before he retired for the evening. At the staff meeting, Albus had dropped the not-so-subtle hint that if he didn't take it and get a decent nights' sleep, the entire faculty would tie him down and cast such an array of spells on him that he would sleep until next April. April was only a few weeks away, but it was the headmaster's way of indicating that the staff did not appreciate Snape's bad temper when he was tired.  
  
With a grunt, Snape swung his feet over the edge of the bed and on to the floor, fighting with the tangled sheets as he did so. The cold of the floor was a blessing to his shocked system. He sat for a few moments, letting the cold seep into him. It was a relief after the dream.  
  
Though he was a man who needed little sleep, the last few nights had been worse than usual. Ever since the weekend, closing his eyes brought no rest. Common nightmares, he was used to. It was a part of him he couldn't escape, but he had learnt how to deal with them on the occasions he was tormented with them. In the last few days, however, his battered subconscious, repressed and ignored, had seemingly decided to get revenge for years of neglect. The dreams he had been having had thrown up memories he had forgotten he had. Not all of them were bad; no, some of them merely brought on the water-torture of bittersweet pain and happy times, long lost. Wakefulness was by far the better option.  
  
Snape sighed. If the bad had to be balanced with the good in life, he was willing to go for the mind-numbingly boring any day. Happiness, fleeting, fragile- it just wasn't his thing.  
  
With a half-smile at the thought, Snape rose and walked over to the chair where he had placed his robes just a few hours ago. So many people were right about him, just not in the way they imagined.  
  
He supposed this was his punishment for attacking Granger. He sighed, walking from his rooms and down the corridor. He still didn't know what had come over him. Control was usually his greatest ally. Yes, he could admit to himself that he seemed to have some absurd attraction to the girl, and she had provoked him, but that was no excuse. The little Gryffindor had about as much guile as a newborn kitten. Having the advantage over her in just about every way, his behaviour was inexcusable.  
  
He would simply have to apologise. Ugh.  
  
The pang of an oncoming headache led Snape in the direction of the kitchens. He could allow himself the luxury of a soothing hot drink after the evening he'd had. Waving the simpering house-elves away, he placed a kettle by the ever-roaring fire and settled down to wait. The ritual of making tea the long way had always soothed him.  
  
It had to be Ailie, of course. He had brewed the dreamless sleep potion himself, so there was no doubt that it worked. No, for some reason, Ailie had seen fit to utilise their link, sending thoughts his way as he slumbered. No doubt she had planned on his being asleep and unresistant to the barrage of images and feelings she had dumped on his psyche. No doubt she was still angry at him for upsetting Hermione.  
  
Snape flinched as another jolt of pain shot through his forehead. Damn the girl. If she would only cease trying to get into his head, his headache would go away. Of course, he could always just let her in, but that wasn't the point. She was the one assaulting him.  
  
The kettle at the fire boiled, and Snape picked up a cloth nearby to move the boiling pot away from the flames. Carefully he measured out some tea-leaves directly into a mug, having a dislike for teapots- they always reminded him of his mother- and poured the boiling water in. Soon enough, he was able to sip at the beverage, but the pangs in his head continued. Ailie was nothing if not persistent. With a sigh, Snape gave in. If she wanted to show him something badly enough, so be it.  
  
His decision was, of course, almost instantly regretted.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Ailie smiled as she felt her thought slither into Snape's mind. Not so far away, Hermione and her new friend were getting extremely... friendly in the corner. Not too passionate, but then, Hermione was a beginner. Ailie was certain that the mere sight of Hermione with her arms around a handsome man would be enough to prevent Snape's sleep for weeks. She gave a wicked chuckle, making Ron, dancing beside her, ask what the joke was.  
  
She smiled up at him. 'Nothing, don't worry about it. I'm just glad to see Hermione's having fun.' Ron looked over at the couple in the corner, and smiled. Ailie liked the glint that had come into his eyes.  
  
As Ron reached out and pulled her closer for a slow dance, Ailie tried to shut the flow of thoughts with Snape off. The potions master, of course, was having none of it, trying to wriggle more ideas about Hermione's occupation out of Ailie's mind. With a mental shrug, Ailie gave in. She was too drunk to fight him off, and too preoccupied. She moved in closer to Ron, brushing her body slightly to his and making him smile. She smiled too; Snape's mental snort of disgust was clearly audible to her. Having a Weasley brought in such close contact with his thoughts was not his idea of fun, she knew. She felt him retreat.  
  
Ailie turned her attention to Ron, feeling all was right with the world.  
  
The next morning, after a quick round of goodbyes and an appreciative smile at Ron, Ailie helped her hungover friend through the floo system with all the relish that could be had in anticipating the row that would greet them as soon as they saw Snape.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I hope you all liked it. I've never chatted up anyone or had someone who wasn't abysmally sleazy try to chat me up in a nightclub, so I don't know how the conversation works. If the conversation in the bar seems odd, then it's my inexperience, sorry.  
  
A few people seemed to think that Hermione was moving away permanently; I hope this chapter set your minds at ease (it would be overreacting a little if she had, wouldn't it? I mean, he did bite her ear, but it's not the end of the world.).  
  
I had an evil little chuckle to myself as I began writing Snape's side of things; I couldn't resist. Mwahahaha....  
  
  
  
'While you are away My heart comes undone Slowly unravels In a ball of yarn The devil collects it With a grin Our love In a ball of yarn He'll never return it So when you come back we'll have to make new love.' -Bjork, 'Unravel' (Homogenic) 


	20. Hermione through her paces

Disclaimer: as in other chapters.  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty  
  
  
  
If Ailie was anticipating Snape's searching the two of them out, she was due to be disappointed. Sickened doubly by the images she had forced on his mind and by his own reaction to it, Snape had wrapped his bad mood around himself and remained in the dungeons all day, the relative darkness and draughty rooms a solace. The gossip of two hapless students early on in the day alerted him to the fact that the two girls had returned earlier than expected, and Snape duly made certain he was as far from the classroom as possible at the time Hermione was due to tutor her fifth years in the afternoon. The half-hour of crashing about in his private store-room served to soothe him somewhat, and only a few of the bottles were irreparably damaged.  
  
Unfortunately, it was Hermione that sought him out, straight after her tutelage. He was startled to hear her quiet call as he exited his rooms on the way to his next class.  
  
The glare he gave her should have warned her off, but, he had to admit, it hadn't been working lately. Still, she needn't have called him a malignant vampire bat, no matter what cold curses he had thrown at her. Luckily, they were on opposite sides of the room at the time, and his urge to wrap his hands around her neck was given sufficient time to be suppressed.  
  
When she stormed out, Snape pulled out his wand and manoeuvred the parchments she had left off his desk and on to a nearby- high-placed- shelf. He couldn't explain to himself just why he didn't want to touch them.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Hermione sighed as she passed the window in her sitting room for the forty- seventh time. She hated pacing. She hated people who paced. Nevertheless, if there was a more efficient way to expel restless energy, no one had told her about it, and she needed some expulsion.  
  
She resisted the urge to pull her hands through her hair and counted her steps instead. Not that she needed to; she knew they numbered exactly thirteen. Unless, of course, her legs had lengthened in the last half-hour. It was worth a try.  
  
Damn him! Damn that arrogant, selfish, conceited, self-satisfied git of a man. Couldn't he force a civil word, just once? She hadn't even been able to tell him that she had a lead on a cure before he had snapped at her- she had had to leave her findings on his desk with a curt order that he should look at the damned things himself.  
  
The trouble was, every time they fought she just wanted to... well, Hermione supposed, the most appropriate word was 'attack'. After their last encounter, she had a taste for it. Seeing him so angry at her, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright, just made Hermione want to feel him pressed up against her again, to feel his teeth on her skin. The mere thought made her frustration even worse. Hermione stopped pacing with a sigh. There was no way she could conquer this feeling in her rooms. With a glance at the clock, she noted it was almost time for her to be leaving anyway; she was due in the dungeons in twenty minutes. She bit her lip. Gods, what on earth had caused her to approach Snape after dinner with the suggestion that they begin the potion this evening? Probably the need for him to recognise that she had even provided him with the information.  
  
Resisting the urge to sigh, Hermione donned her cloak and headed for the door. She would approach Snape's lair by the most circuitous route possible; outside, around the castle, and then in a side door.  
  
The mechanics of exiting the castle out of curfew occupied her mind sufficiently for a few minutes. Out in the crisp night air, Hermione breathed deeply, hoping the frigid air would do something for her overheated senses. Everything seemed too significant today; it was one of those days when every breeze, every glow of the sun had made her body bloom and shiver. Damn it.  
  
She had tried. She really had. The previous evening, Hermione had dressed herself up with the resolve that she was going to enjoy herself, but secretly, she knew, she had wanted an opportunity to rid herself of all the feelings and thoughts prompted by her last encounter with Snape.  
  
It hadn't worked. Meeting Milton had given her precisely the opportunity she had been subconsciously looking for, though she hadn't planned it that way. When it became clear that the man wanted to kiss her, Hermione had rejoiced, enjoying the feeling of being wanted. The problem was, she hadn't wanted. Milton's kisses were pleasant and his embraces enjoyable, but no more could be said of it.  
  
When Milton had finally had to leave, she had waved him goodbye with complete though slightly inebriated calm, and turned her attention to others. During the next three hours, Hermione had learnt how the manipulation of her body could arouse the male of the species. Not the grotesque gyrations some of the other girls in the club performed, cheaply offering their bodies up for whatever observation happened to come their way; Hermione couldn't imagine performing that way under any other influence than the Imperius curse. No, she simply learnt that a graceful shift of hips here, and gesture with an arm there could be both sensual and appetising. Hermione had learnt what it was to entice.  
  
The down side of this was in her unguarded dreams, Hermione's awakened senses were enticed in turn. Thankfully, her dreams hadn't been as lucid as the one induced under Snape's potion, but they had been a lot more daring. Hermione blushed just thinking about them. The fact that half of them were shrouded in sleep was little help; what she could remember was enough to turn her cheeks beet red and make her breath come quicker.  
  
She looked up at the sky in frustration. Walking was not helping at all; it was giving her too much time to think. Clenching her hands into fists, Hermione turned toward the castle. It was about time she turned up at the dungeons anyway.  
  
She hesitated before the black wood of the door to Snape's classroom. Part of her felt like running away, but that didn't disturb her half as much as the part of her that was looking forward to another good fight with him. Not one of the boys at the club last night had excited her as much as slapping Snape had. She had to face it- that whole interlude had been so full of tension that her pulse rate picked up just thinking about it.  
  
Biting back a growl of self-derision, Hermione raised her fist and knocked once, opening the door without an invitation and striding into the room. Her quick entry earnt her a scowl from the darkly-clad man within.  
  
'Miss Granger,' he said, his voice low. 'On time for once, I see.'  
  
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek at his deliberate jibe. She refused to rise to his bait; her thoughts disturbed her enough without yet another fight. With a few curt words, they sorted out between them who was to prepare which ingredients, and Hermione gratefully set to work. Unfortunately, the task was too simple, leaving time for her overactive mind to wander.  
  
Slowly, her thoughts drifted along the track of the previous evening. For the first time she had really gone out and fraternised with those her own age, it hadn't been that bad. In fact, she was tempted to regard it as a success. She hadn't done anything to embarrass herself, hadn't alienated people with the first two words out of her mouth, hadn't stumbled over her own feet while dancing. On the contrary.  
  
A small smile crept over Hermione's face at the memory. She remembered the feeling of power she had in that nightclub. She hadn't been simple, little Hermione there; no, by the end of the evening she had felt the complete power a woman could have over a man. She had felt as though she had the power within her to make a man fall to his knees; it was a heady feeling. That what she wanted Snape to feel- she wanted to make him fall on his knees before her and beg for... well, she wasn't sure what she wanted him to beg for, but begging would be a start. The mental picture of Snape on his knees, hands clasped before him and a pleading expression on his face made her chuckle, drawing Snape's glare.  
  
'Is there a problem, Miss Granger?'  
  
Hermione shook her head, instantly calming. She was delusional, that had to be it; maybe she was even still drunk from the night before. She brushed off her hands stepped forward. 'How are things going?'  
  
Snape sneered at her derisively, reaching around to gather up the ingredients she had prepared. 'You would know if you were paying attention. I am uncertain of the reason you felt the need to be here if you simply plan to stare into space. Potions, I may remind you, require constant attention.'  
  
Hermione glared at him. He actually had the nerve to lecture her after she had done so much research for this cure. Though she had made a silent promise to herself not to argue with the man, Hermione felt a slow anger building in her chest. His continual refusal to acknowledge her skill was beyond bearing. Already irked at her own idiotic musings about him, Hermione let her anger flow.  
  
'The reason I feel the need to be here,' she said, her voice low, 'is because I have been trying to save your a-' Not wanting to think about that particular part of the anatomy, she substituted, 'Bacon. You may not remember, but it was I who managed to find this particular cure. And I feel free to stare off into space because I am tired after several days of research, and have faith that you, this school's Potions Master, are able to make the potion by yourself.'  
  
Snape crossed his arms. 'If you feel so incapable of doing actual work, I again question your need to be here?'  
  
'Oh-' Hermione clenched her teeth together, unwilling to lose control in front of Snape again. It would only please him. Besides, she didn't really have a reason to be there, beside curiosity, and everyone knew about that proverbial cat.  
  
She took a deep breath, ignoring the way Snape's eyes travelled over her. 'I wanted to be here,' she replied, 'because I wanted to see the potion work. And I don't recall you giving me any reason why my presence would bother you.' There, she thought. Answer that one.  
  
Snape looked away briefly, and Hermione felt a brief moment of triumph, but it was quashed when he looked back at her.  
  
'I assumed that a supposed adult would be capable of observing the makings of a potion, or perhaps even assisting, without causing interruption. Of course, I should have known that this was a high hope,' he said.  
  
Hermione gasped. 'That's an old one, Snape. Can't you think of any new insults? When will you realise I am no child!'  
  
Snape smiled nastily. 'When you cease to behave like one.'  
  
'If we're to judge on behaviour, Severus, then you and I would be pretty well on par,' Hermione said, her cheeks aflame with indignation. 'I've given you no reason for your impolite behaviour- no, not just impolite, you've been downright uncivil and ungentlemanly! I know you're usually a grumpy, ogre of a man, but with me your innate nastiness seems to find new levels.' An idea dawned on her, and her eyes widened. 'You can't handle it that I found a cure for you and Ailie when you couldn't...'  
  
Snape's expression darkened. 'I would hardly think so. That such a blatant amateur as yourself could have advantage over my experience is laughable. You couldn't even manage your year six potions final-'  
  
'-no, Neville couldn't manage, and you took points off us both-'  
  
'-and managed to bungle a very simple healing potion for your final assignment-'  
  
'Only because Goyle threw a dungbomb spell into it at the last moment, not that you noticed, you never noticed anything your precious Slytherins-'  
  
'-and frankly couldn't make a transformio potion to save your life!'  
  
'That's a blatant lie!' Hermione yelled, stepping closer. 'You know that. I got the highest grade in my potions class, aside from Draco Malfoy, and you know you only gave it to him because he was Slytherin! I dare you to say that I don't know potions again. I dare you.' Knowing better than to approach any further, Hermione put her hands on her hips. 'You call me a child and then recount tales of my school days, holding things against me that were out of my control. Hell, when I was in school you acted far more childish than I ever have!' Snape opened his mouth to speak, his expression furious, but Hermione cut him off. 'No. You're wrong, you've always been wrong, and I just can't believe I ever-' she cut herself off before she could say anything further. 'Well, if I'm so bad at potions,' she said, leaning over the table, 'then I guess nothing will happen when I do this-' Hermione grabbed a vial full of langdria weed and poured it into the bubbling cauldron before Snape could do anything to prevent her. With a nod goodbye, she turned and walked to the door.  
  
'Miss Granger!' Snape called furiously after her, but Hermione ignored him.  
  
'And as I'm so bloody useless at potions I wouldn't know that a pinch of boomslang skin will nullify the itching fumes,' she yelled over her shoulder. 'But you're so damned intelligent I'm certain you'll figure it out for yourself!' Fuming, she stomped up the stairs to the main hall.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Okay, sorry this is such a short chapter. Things have just sort of got on top of me lately and I've just been too tired to write (most of you know the feeling). Luckily, holidays are almost here, I've finished the last issue of my magazine that I'll EVER edit, and I plan to spend three months solid writing.  
  
My last note before I leave you to it is something quite sad and depressing, so ignore this paragraph if you want to. Someone at my uni yesterday went nuts in his class and shot two people dead and injured five others. I know this has been happening to lots of people, everywhere, for a while, but it has not really happened in Australia and it's just. unbelievable at the moment. I had all my family calling me yesterday to make sure I wasn't dead. Anyway, I felt the need to mark the occasion and send out a message of condolence to any other Monash students who happen to be out there feeling shaken, and indeed everyone who has had something like this happen to them in recent years. This planet really does seem to be becoming a war zone.  
  
The next chapter will be much more interesting, I promise, and hopefully a lot longer. 


	21. Hags on a craggy moor

A/N: Hello again (at last). Yes, I have finally uploaded something new. I am a bad, bad author, and certainly don't deserve the encouragement and loyalty all you wonderful people have shown in the last while, waiting for me to get off my ass and do another chapter (if it's any consolation, I've been distracted by scenes later in the story- yes. *those* scenes- and have been pattering about with them instead of what I should have been doing).  
  
Hopefully you will like this chapter- it doesn't have that much Sev/Herm interaction, but it does have some Evil Witch Plotting which I rather had fun with, and future chapters will have Sev/Herm haggling galore, as well as some more Ailie action. It's not hugely long, sorry, which you more than deserve after such a long wait, but it's not horrendously short (4000 words, guys!). I promise, I will do some more stuff *soon*.  
  
BTW a lot of people I know have been having their files removed from ff.net with no warning, apparently because someone made a complaint about their rating. If someone has a problem with the rating on this, could you please let me know before you alert da fuzz, as they seem to remove things with no warning, and give no chance for the Lowly Author to redeem themselves, and I like writing this and thinking that you guys read it and sort of enjoy it in some perverted way, and if they remove it without warning I won't have the chance to subject you to further ridiculously unpunctuated sentences like this one.  
  
Disclaimer: I have nothing to do with it, okay? Nothing. Centrelink just cut off my austudy payment and I've just moved into a flat on my own and am living on rice and noodles. Leave me alone, Warner Bros.!  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-One  
  
  
  
The monthly staff meeting took place in the staff room, as usual. Hermione watched as one by one, the staff straggled in; Flitwick first, making a beeline for the snacks, Hooch and McGonagall, deep in conversation and heading for the most comfortable chairs, Hagrid ambling in when the room was almost full (his size guaranteed him a seat, anyway, as no-one would want to risk being sat on), and Poppy Pomfrey, bustling in last, guaranteed to leave before it was over to return to her charges. Oh, and of course Snape, who seemed to appear suddenly, already seated. Hermione was certain that he chose the high-backed wing chair just so he could surprise everyone; she had a secret theory that he arrived first and hid there until the time was ripe to appear.  
  
After their last argument, Hermione had had a stern talk with herself. Snape had always been a git, and would continue to be so probably for the remainder of his life. Fighting with him would not change that, and could only lessen her opinion of herself as a person. He might act childish; it was up to her to be adult.  
  
The talk had done her a world of good, although, like many similar resolutions to be a better person than others, it was assured of success about as long as it took for her to talk to Snape again.  
  
Blissfully unaware of this, and perfectly serene, Hermione settled more comfortably into her chair and prepared for the meeting to begin. In her first meeting, she had volunteered to take on the duties of secretary, relieving a very happy Madam Hooch of the note-taking job. It wasn't much, but, having no classes of her own and no real responsibilities, it made Hermione feel as though she had something to contribute to the meetings.  
  
Dumbledore arrived, beaming as usual. Hermione vaguely wondered if there was something in those lemon drops the Headmaster was always nibbling, but waved the thought away as the meeting began.  
  
The responsibilities of secretary were not at all arduous. All Hermione had to do was make a brief note of any issues raised and decisions made, then replicate the parchment and give copies to each of the heads of houses and the headmaster. It was a lot less messy than the ramblings of a dicto-quill, and posed very little inconvenience to an ordered mind. Hermione made a note of the date and of the first proposed issue, brought up by Professor Sprout; students had moved the swinging hershees too near the store cupboard again, and she needed several pairs of hands to get the plants through detox after their binge on fertiliser. Hermione made a note of the teachers who reluctantly volunteered, with particular malice jotting down 'S.S.' when the headmaster volunteered their knowledgable potions master for the late-night shift.  
  
Talk moved on to Madam Hooch's regular plea for new school brooms, which involved Dumbledore quietly listening to the sports teacher's impassioned speeches on the importance of sport to a young mind, and ultimate refusal on terms of budget. This usually took around fifteen minutes, leaving Hermione free to stare at a point exactly midway between the two teachers, a polite expression on her face and a complex arithmancy problem, new spell, or even memorised poem in her mind. Unfortunately, this time the point directly between the two teachers happened to be occupied by a darkly brooding potions master, nestled in his chair in the corner, a fact Hermione only noticed after several minutes of absent staring.  
  
When her eyes finally obeyed the command of her brain and focused on the object of her apparent contemplation, she was disturbed to see his black eyes staring back at her in sedate observation. Her breath caught at a spark of... something in those black depths, drawing her in, inviting her to fall and be lost, but then it was gone. Unwilling to let him see her blush, Hermione glanced around the room and was flustered to note that her stare hadn't gone unnoticed in the corner of Hooch, McGonagall and Sprout, who all shared a knowing look. Her blush deepened when Minerva raised an eyebrow at her, and she looked away again, only to observe the Headmaster looking at her expectantly. Confused, she looked at her notes, which told her nothing, and then back up at her headmaster.  
  
'I'll take that as a modest yes, and I'm certain that Miss Granger will do a wonderful job,' said the old wizard, nodding. He clapped his hands together and rose. 'Well, my friends, as this has been such a short meeting, might I suggest that we share a few drinks before dinner? It will give Miss Granger a chance to register your opinions on decorations and so forth.' The meeting disbanded, each teacher sending their chair back to its original place and making their way to various spots around the room. Hermione busied herself with her notes, making corrections here and there while desperately trying to remember what the Headmaster had been talking about before he called upon her.  
  
Several female figures invaded her peripheral vision, and Hermione was forced to stand to greet Professors McGonagall and Sprout, and Madam Hooch. The three witches looked at her expectantly.  
  
'I don't suppose you could tell me what I've volunteered for, can you?' Hermione asked, exasperation tinting her tone. Hooch waved her hand at her.  
  
'Just decorating for this gods-awful ball Albus is insisting upon. Never mind that- what was that between you and Sevviekins?'  
  
Hermione didn't know it was possible to both blanch and blush, but she was certain her cheeks were an interesting shade at that moment. She glanced, slightly horrified, at Professor Sprout, and Madam Hooch shrugged.  
  
'We keep no secrets from Esmerelda,' said McGonagall, with a smile.  
  
'Besides, you can hardly expect us to keep such a juicy piece of gossip to ourselves,' said Hooch, grinning. Hermione groaned.  
  
Minerva patted Hermione on the shoulder, and Professor Sprout smiled at her. 'Don't worry, they haven't told anyone else. I'm the soul of discretion.'  
  
'So spill,' said Hooch.  
  
'There's nothing to spill,' said Hermione. 'I was staring into space.'  
  
'And he happened to be in it, hmm?' McGonagall gave Hermione an encouraging look. 'We all saw it happen, dear. The two of you were off the planet for about ten minutes.'  
  
Hermione sighed. 'It was nothing. My mind was wandering.' Professor Sprout gave an unladylike snort and Hermione frowned. The three of them were not likely to give up the topic soon, unless diverted. 'Now, what's this about a ball?'  
  
Minerva smiled, moving the group closer to the fire and refreshments which had been set out by the house elves. Hermione gratefully accepted a small glass of red wine.  
  
'In deference to Ailie, Albus has decided to celebrate the summer solstice this year,' the deputy headmistress replied to Hermione's question. 'We'll be holding a ceremony and a ball. And you volunteered to organise it.'  
  
'Or rather Albus volunteered you,' smiled Sprout, sipping her brandy. 'He thought that you would enjoy it. You seemed to agree.'  
  
'The look on her face was one of pleasure, for sure,' giggled Hooch. Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
'Really, Freya, I would expect more grown up behaviour from you three. I think Ailie's right; you are incurable gossips,' she said.  
  
'You could try cutting out their tongues,' came a comment close by. As one, the four witches turned to see Snape leaning against the mantle of the fireplace, a dry look on his features.  
  
'Don't worry, girls, that's just Severus's way of saying he loves us,' remarked Hooch, tipping her glass in his direction. 'Isn't it, Sevvie?'  
  
Snape graced them with a slight grimace at the alteration of his name. 'Freya, little as you might think of it, my parents spent a rather long time in the choosing of my given name. I would appreciate it if you refrained from butchering it in such a hideous way.'  
  
Hooch grinned at him, ignoring his death glare. Hermione ducked her head, conveniently remembering that she hadn't finished her notes of the meeting, and moved back over to her chair. It was the work of moments to put the final note on them and replicate a copy for each head of house and Dumbledore. Snape had moved away from the fireplace by the time she finished.  
  
'It's okay, Hermione, he's gone now,' said Professor Sprout, accepting a copy of the notes. 'You can stand with us again.'  
  
Against her will, Hermione blushed.  
  
'It's not really Hermione's fault if the great bat is set on intimidating her,' said Hooch.  
  
'He does rather cultivate that image, doesn't he?' Sprout asked, leading a grateful Hermione on to another topic.  
  
'You know, Ron and Harry always thought Snape was a vampire,' Hermione said with a smile. 'I never really had much time for that theory myself, though. I was keen to know whether he puts a spell on those robes of his to make them billow so much.'  
  
The three other women looked at each other and laughed. 'You know, it is funny how he manages to make them do that all the time,' Sprout said, giggling.  
  
'Is it the company or natural inclination that turns apparently grown women such as yourselves into giggling idiots?' Hermione jumped as Snape's silky tones drifted past her left shoulder. She resisted the panic reaction of spinning around, managing to turn slowly and calmly in the direction of the speaker. Her features betrayed her, however, when a telltale blush crept over her cheeks at his raised eyebrow.  
  
'Or perhaps,' Snape continued, his voice dipping even lower, 'it is habit.' A small flare of amusement sparked deep within his eyes, and Hermione blushed harder. Damn him for bringing up the last time he had caught this particular group gossiping, and the rather embarrassing trick he pulled on her.  
  
Gathering her senses, Hermione handed Snape his copy of the meeting notes, which he took with the ghost of a smile. It wasn't a friendly one, either. He turned away and Hermione felt her Gryffindor courage finally kick in.  
  
'Finite incantem,' she said aloud, pointing her wand at the flaring hem of Snape's black robes. He spun around, his expression shocked and angry.  
  
Hermione stared him down, raising an eyebrow of her own. 'Just checking,' she said. Snape opened and shut his mouth a few times, but, obviously failing to think of a biting remark, settled for a death glare before turning to head again for the door.  
  
The others didn't wait for him to leave the room before laughing at Snape's discomfort. Hermione nonchalantly rubbed the tip of her wand against her sleeve, pretending to polish it, which caused her companions to laugh harder.  
  
'Well done, dear,' said Esmerelda, patting her on the back. 'Usually it's only Freya who can tease Severus so well.'  
  
'That certainly was a good one,' agreed Hooch.  
  
'It's rare that I've seen someone point their wand at Severus and not been hexed from it,' said Minerva. 'His reflexes are usually very quick.'  
  
'Understandably,' said Sprout, aside.  
  
'I'll never forget that flustered look on his face,' said Hooch, still laughing. 'Only Hermione could have got away with it.' Hermione thought that the smile Freya gave her had a little too much leer in it for her comfort. She looked pleadingly at Minerva, who elbowed her colleague in the side.  
  
'So what are you planning on doing for the preparations for the ball, Hermione?' asked Sprout, changing subjects.  
  
Hermione shrugged. 'I've no idea. Solstice is several months away, so I should have just enough time to research the proper preparations.'  
  
'I'd just go the streamers and paper hats if I was you,' said Madam Hooch, emptying her glass and placing it on the mantlepiece. 'Less time, and quicker to clean.' With that, the group prepared to leave for dinner.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
That evening, the shadows had reached their night's depth as a group of witches sat around the fire in Minerva McGonagall's study.  
  
'Young Ailie seems to be settling in quite well,' said Esmerelda Sprout, stretching her stockinged feet toward the flames and twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. They had been discussing castle gossip in a casual way, but now a hint of inquisition crept into her tone. 'It's amazing that no-one noticed her inherent magical powers before.' McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey shared a look.  
  
Madam Hooch looked at them sternly. 'Yes, interesting, isn't it, that in a family such as the Grangers, who already have one magical child, such a wonder of nature should be overlooked?'  
  
Both of the witches under her gaze shifted a little uncomfortably in their seats, unwilling to meet the eye of either of their other colleagues.  
  
'Ailie... Ailie does have a certain Pagan heritage, as you know,' began Poppy, uncertainly. 'Perhaps there is some hidden magic in her religious teachings...'  
  
'Of course, this war has already created many refugees, no matter how much Fudge denies it,' continued Sprout, apparently unaware of her companions' discomfort. 'And Albus has always had the policy of protecting those in need.'  
  
'Yes, yes, very well, Esmerelda,' said McGonagall. 'We all know what you and Freya are getting at. And you both know that anyone hiding from danger can only be put in more danger the more people know about it.'  
  
'Of course, Minerva,' said Sprout kindly. 'We know you and Poppy would tell us if you could. You were always so very Gryffindor,' she added, in a low tone.  
  
A silence followed, as the four witches stared into the fire. Gradually, the flames took on the image of two figures dancing. Well, they were certainly doing something.  
  
'Okay, Freya, we all know how clever you are with fire,' said Poppy, hiding a laugh behind feigned disapproval.  
  
'I was just thinking of the way things have changed in the castle lately. You know, with so many young things... things have certainly heated up a bit.'  
  
'Yes, Ailie has certainly done Hermione some good,' said Minerva.  
  
'But how do we get them together?' wondered Poppy. The others glanced at her, and she sighed. 'Not Hermione and Ailie. You know.'  
  
'Severus is a very difficult man,' said Minerva.  
  
'If we don't do something about it soon, those two might well burst into flames at the dinner table,' Hooch said wryly.  
  
'Hermione might not thank us for it, you know,' said Sprout. 'She's very shy.'  
  
'Damned right. She needs help, dealing with someone like Severus,' Hooch said, swigging on her bottle of butterbeer.  
  
'I think what Esmerelda meant was that perhaps Hermione does not want us to do anything at all,' said Minerva quietly.  
  
Poppy gave her a serious look. 'Hermione may not know what she wants. You know she was one of the few seventh year girls who never came to me for a contraceptive potion.' Three pairs of eyebrows raised around the circle.  
  
'Well...' said Sprout, 'it is Hermione. She might have learnt how to make one herself...'  
  
'Not surprising really,' said Freya. 'Bookish type. More interested in words than in reality.' She caught Minerva's look, and had the grace to look abashed. 'Okay, that's not necessarily true. But you have to admit that Hermione wasn't exactly the most... popular girl at school.'  
  
'I had been certain that she and Ron...' said Minerva, but trailed off, deep in thought. 'Well, it does explain the little situation with Sirius she told us about.'  
  
'That does bear thinking about,' said Poppy, her brow creased with concern. 'If what we think is true, it's possible that the "help" Sirius gave her at Christmas was her first good snog.'  
  
The four watched the flames once more, contemplating the thought.  
  
'Ye gods,' said Hooch. 'Do you mean we're dealing with a certified virgin?'  
  
'It is not a disease, Freya,' said McGonagall, with a frown. 'And it's hardly remarkable. Hermione's not yet twenty, remember.'  
  
'I know. She makes you forget that sometimes, doesn't she?' smiled Sprout.  
  
'It's just the girl acts so capably in every other respect,' Hooch said. 'And it's not as though she's the shy and retiring type.' She frowned. 'Well, at least she wasn't in school. I'll admit she wasn't exactly sporty, but she seemed fairly outgoing. An inquisitive girl like her, I would have thought she'd-'  
  
'-done some "research" in the area?' suggested Pomfrey, with a smile. 'Not everyone likes to dive head first into these things, Freya,' she added, ignoring the flying teacher's snort of derision. 'Besides, you can't exactly say she was spoilt for choice.'  
  
'Hmm.' Sprout cocked her head to the side, contemplating as she watched the fire. 'Finnegan was taken during the later years. Thomas bats for the other side. Longbottom- ugh, even a young girl could see the boy needed a mother more than a girlfriend- well it's true,' she said apologetically at Minerva's glare. 'And Harry, well, she couldn't exactly set up with the most famous boy in the wizarding world to date. And I can't see her going for Ron. Hell, with those two boys it would have been practically incest, as close as they were. No, I can see what you mean, Pops.' Smiling, she reached over and clinked her glass with Pomfrey's.  
  
'And boys younger than her would most definitely have been out, if I know Hermione well,' said Minerva, twirling her glass between her fingers. 'Severus really isn't an illogical choice. An older man, intelligent, mysterious-'  
  
'-dark and dangerous-' interrupted Sprout.  
  
'-not unhandsome-'  
  
'-especially in his shorts-' giggled Pomfrey.  
  
'-formerly in a position of authority, now in a position to-' she cut off, to glare at Hooch. 'Get your mind out of the gutter, Freya. I was about to say "now in a position to prove her dominance."'  
  
'Ooh,' sighed Sprout. 'Subjugated to her will. I like the sound of that.' She shared a wicked smile with Poppy.  
  
'I know what you mean,' Poppy said, grinning. 'Satin sheets-'  
  
'More like silken ropes,' said Hooch, with a chuckle. 'Severus would love it.'  
  
'Freya!' said McGonagall. 'You forget we're talking about two of our colleagues!'  
  
'And friends,' reminded Sprout. 'Besides, Severus *would* be the type to enjoy it. And I can certainly see a bit of dominance doing Hermione a bit of good. She seemed happy with the result of her teasing him this evening.'  
  
Poppy chuckled. 'I've never seen Severus so discomfited.'  
  
'They do fight a lot, don't they?' said Minerva. 'Did I tell you about what Albus and I saw?'  
  
'What, the ear thing?' asked Poppy.  
  
'What ear thing?' asked Sprout, leaning forward eagerly.  
  
'You were out in the greenhouses,' explained Pomfrey. 'Basically, he...'  
  
Minerva rolled her eyes as her colleague explained the story. Beside her, Hooch sighed.  
  
'It's so romantic,' she said.  
  
Poppy turned to her sharply. 'What is? Getting bitten on the ear?'  
  
Hooch shrugged. 'It'll do.' She took a swig of her drink and set it down. 'Romantic, sexy, whatever. It's more than I'm getting.'  
  
'So what do we do? To manoeuvre them together, I mean,' asked Sprout.  
  
The other three shrugged.  
  
'I suppose,' said Poppy, after a pause, 'we could do little things, like making them sit together at dinner.'  
  
'Poppy, you might as well suggest we lock them in an attic together,' said Minerva, rolling her eyes. 'It's too obvious.'  
  
'I wouldn't be too sure,' said Sprout. 'I mean, it's not that unusual for people to have to shuffle around occasionally. We'd just need to subtly rearrange things for a while, think up an excuse that sounds plausible.'  
  
'Filibus usually sits next to Severus,' said McGonagall.  
  
'And Hermione usually sits between Ailie and me,' said Hooch. 'All I have to do is arrange for Filibus to sit next to me for a few days.'  
  
'How will you do that?' asked Poppy.  
  
Hooch narrowed her eyes mysteriously. 'I have my ways.'  
  
Minerva chuckled. 'Freya, you dirty bird,' she said.  
  
'And I usually sit the other side of Filibus,' said Sprout. 'So that's easy. I'll just pay a lot of attention to my other side from now on.'  
  
'They'll have to talk to each other,' said Poppy, clapping her hands together with finality.  
  
Minerva sipped her wine thoughtfully. 'That won't be enough, you know,' she said.  
  
The other three paused in their self-congratulation to think some more.  
  
'Hermione will need some help in organising this solstice thing,' said Esmerelda.  
  
'Snape would never agree to that,' said Hooch.  
  
'Unless...' Poppy frowned at the fire. 'What if it involved potions in some way?'  
  
'How?' asked Hooch.  
  
'Some sort of... I don't know,' admitted Pomfrey. 'Maybe some sort of ingredient in the feast that would allow part of the solstice to take place?'  
  
'A transformio potion,' said Minerva, struck by inspiration. 'A potion that would allow the students to be in touch with the movement of the earth and the stones, just like in the old magic. It's brilliant.'  
  
'Well, thank you, Minerva,' said Poppy, wryly.  
  
Minerva waved aside her comment with annoyance. 'You know I didn't mean that, Poppy. I meant that these potions are very difficult, because they have to be tuned to a specific place. Hermione hasn't got the experience to make one by herself- it's knowledge you can't just get from books- but Severus would need her help to make it. How unfortunate,' she added, with a nasty grin, 'that there are no two professors in this school that are similarly skilled in potions.'  
  
'Oh, I don't know, Sinistra is pretty adept-' began Poppy, only to be cut off by Minerva's glare.  
  
'I trust Severus won't be alerted to that opinion, Poppy,' she said. 'This will work. In a working environment, they're bound to get to know each other better.'  
  
'And then bang!' said Hooch, slapping her hands together. 'Sex.' Minerva shot her a look, and she shrugged unapologetically.  
  
Sprout looked at the three with concern. 'You know... this is Severus we're talking about. Do we really want to get Hermione involved with him?'  
  
Minerva sat back in her chair. 'I see what you mean. But...' Her countenance grew serious. 'Severus is, I think, at heart a normal man. What's more, he's intelligent, and he's been hurt enough himself to know what it's like. All in all, he might take better care of her than another man, no matter what his past.'  
  
'Yes, but-' Sprout frowned. 'We all know the consequences of Severus's... other activities. What if something was to happen to him, or worse, to her?'  
  
The other three nodded, but Hooch leant forward. 'This war can't affect everything. It's done so much already- why should we let it stop two people we like being happy together, even if it's only for a while? Besides, maybe having someone like Hermione will convince Severus to give up this stupid suicide mission he's on.'  
  
McGonagall sighed. 'Freya, you know we need Severus to go on doing what he does. It's one of our few leads.' She intercepted Hooch's look, and waved the long-debated subject aside. 'But I agree. We can't let this war change our whole way of living.'  
  
'It's not as though we're talking about making people do things against their inclination,' said Poppy. 'I've a feeling Hermione and Severus may need little of our help, in the end. They can't ignore it much longer.'  
  
'Who cares?' said Hooch, hoisting herself out of her chair with a yawn. 'This castle needs excitement, and at least this involves someone getting laid.' She smiled at the others. 'Even if it's not me.'  
  
Poppy and Sprout also rose, placing their glasses on the mantlepiece. 'We shall put our plan into action tomorrow,' Poppy said.  
  
Minerva gave a ladylike yawn. 'So,' she said. 'When shall we... four meet again?'  
  
Sprout rolled her eyes. 'At breakfast, as usual. You always did have a distasteful sense of the dramatic, Minerva,' she said, as she followed her companions out of the door, leaving a rather sleepy tabby cat curled up by a warm fire.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Stranger than you dreamt it can you even bear to look or dare to think of me this loathesome gargoyle who burns in hell but secretly yearns for heaven secretly secretly but christine fear can turn to love you'll learn to see to find the man behind the monster this repulsive carcass who seems a beast but secretly dreams of beauty secretly secretly... 


	22. Bucketing down

Disclaimer: yet again I do not own any of these characters except Ailie, but boy do I have naughty dreams about some of them.  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-Two- Bucketing down  
  
  
  
Hermione Granger stood in the centre of her rooms, her mind filled with only one thought: I will not cry. Her breath still came in gasps from the run she had had all the way up the stairs from outside; her ears still rung with the involuntary slamming of her door in haste. She breathed in, and thought: I will not cry. She bit her lip, and thought: I will NOT cry. I will not cry, I won't let him make me cry...  
  
A sob rose from deep in her chest, and she thought: damn. I'm crying.  
  
As she crumpled to the floor, the logical part of her mind thought, this is okay. Release in tears is a natural and healthy way to cope with emotional stress. This crying session has probably been building up for some time, and it will do us some good.  
  
The rest of her thought, Oh, do shut up, you stupid prat.  
  
It hadn't even been three months in to her first term at Hogwarts when she had made a pact with herself that Professor Snape wouldn't make her cry. He doesn't deserve it, Hermione, she had thought to herself. If you cry, he wins. Of course, over the years that pact had been broken, many times, but all in all she had felt good about her resistance. All the times he had been a complete bastard, she had stuck to her resolve, and bravely held the tears in. It had only been when he'd been unusually cruel that the tears had come out.  
  
Now, with time for reflection, Hermione thought that perhaps it had been the conviction that he was a complete and irredeemable bastard that had enabled her to keep the tears in. During school, she had been surrounded by friends all eager to put the man down, ridicule him behind his back and make plans for revenge. It had been easier to cope with his nastiness then. She could just assume he was a monster.  
  
Adulthood forced the realisation that he wasn't. He was a man- a particularly nasty man, yes, but just a man. Adulthood forced the realisation that the man was more affected by his past than would at first appear. Adulthood forced the realisation that he was human, in constant fear for his life, and under a lot of stress.  
  
Adulthood sucked.  
  
Because just when you'd accepted these things, he did something completely out of left field, something that made little sense and had connotations flying all over the place...  
  
Hermione held her head in her hands as she leant, curled up, on the floor. It just wasn't fair. She had been coping well. Everything had seemed to settle down. Then, for some insane reason, she had decided to go for a walk before breakfast, and the Master of Malevolence had swept down in all his glory.  
  
He hadn't made a comment at first, just looked at her until she had felt she had to say something. He had seemed impossibly angry- strangely so, as though there was something she had done to him that she was unaware of. The evening before had given her a handy weapon- she would never have guessed that Snape couldn't cope with being teased- and she had used it with the hope of disarming him. Not a good idea.  
  
The worst thing was that there was something different, hiding beneath his usual biting remarks and cutting tones. He had rebuked her for her behaviour the evening before, not perhaps a wholly unexpected turn. He had then made some reference to the dangers of alcohol, and her behaviour when around it- something that truly puzzled her, prompting her question...  
  
'Just what are you getting at, Snape?'  
  
Hermione had learnt then that it is never, never a good idea to ask someone who actively dislikes you to reveal exactly what they think is wrong with you.  
  
The next bit of the conversation was a bit of a blur, basically because she hadn't stayed long before running off in tears. Well, running off while trying to stop tears. She had an idea that Ailie had somehow transmitted what had happened at the club in London into Snape's brain. Snape had mentioned something about Sirius, if 'that damned Black' could be interpreted as such- she didn't think he was making a racist slur on someone. He had also, with his usual delicacy of word choice, called her what amounted to 'slut.'  
  
Which was totally unfair. 'Mudblood' she could deal with- it was a bad way of describing what she essentially was. 'Geek,' 'nerd,' 'know-it- all;' these had similar justice. Hell, even 'frigid' would be a more just (though totally unfounded) term than- than-  
  
She couldn't even bring herself to think about it.  
  
Oh, he hadn't actually said the word. He'd more looked it. It had been in his eyes, oh-so-eloquent pools of nastiness that they were. He'd merely mentioned her 'behaviour'. He'd merely made her feel about as low as a parasite on a worm.  
  
As though the situation wasn't bad enough, his total overreaction to behaviour that wasn't unbecoming a healthy young woman had left her abominably confused. He'd acted almost like a jealous lover- his every undertone had seemed to reprimand her for betraying a lover's faithfulness. Yet how could that be?  
  
Worn out, Hermione rose from the floor, wiping her cheeks free of wetness. she made her way to her bathroom, avoiding the gaze of the mirror, and splashed some cold water over her face. A few deflating charms made the facade in the mirror easier to cope with- the worst part of crying, she had always thought, was that it made you look like you hadn't slept in three weeks and had the flu- and walked back out into the sitting room. Wasted adrenalin from the argument still flowed in her veins, and she moved to stand and stare out of the window.  
  
Modesty might dictate that Snape was no more than an unfeeling bastard, but the logical part of Hermione's brain told her that such an argument as the one they had just had had nothing to do with disinterest. Snape was not one to get involved in personal matters; it just wasn't his style. If he made personal references, accusations, it had to mean something...  
  
'Unless I disgust him so completely,' Hermione said aloud, sadly. It was entirely plausible. The poor man had been forced to dream about her, his subconscious throwing up the only young female it was acquainted with when the situation called for it. It was possible that he was disgusted by it, and her ensuing behaviour. He had never given her any reason to think he was even attracted to her.  
  
But why the possessive tone, the hurt look in his eyes? Some part of Hermione steadfastly refused to believe that those actions had come from disgust. Those two things had been the marks of a lover, the logical part of her brain whispered. They came from jealousy.  
  
Oh, do shut up, she thought. She clenched her hands on the stone of the windowsill. I am not pleased by the thought of Severus Snape being jealous because of me. I am *not*.  
  
She looked at the clock. There was just enough time to get ready before breakfast. Quickly, Hermione retreated to her room, grabbing robes for the day and brushing her hair into some semblance of neatness. She didn't notice that she left it down, unusual for a teaching day. Nor did she notice, as she grabbed a handy book and strode out the door, that she was wearing the startlingly blue velvet robes she had bought in Hogsmeade, a few weeks before.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Hermione didn't take much notice of the thin reason for the new seating arrangements, but Ailie did. When she approached the breakfast table that morning, she noted that Professor Flitwick was, momentarily, she assumed, sitting in Hermione's usual place. When her friend strode in ten minutes late (looking, Ailie thought, absolutely gorgeous in those new blue robes of hers) , an explanation had been offered by a smiling Flitwick and Hooch; the two professors were investigating a new type of charm for broomsticks and would need to spend mealtimes discussing various aspects of their project. Ailie almost snorted; that two professors, whose classes finished at four in the afternoon, couldn't find any time to talk other than a noisy meal time, was ridiculous. Hermione merely suppressed a groan as she saw she would be seated between Snape and Sprout, and with admirable calm made her way to her new seat.  
  
Ailie cautiously spent the rest of the meal ascertaining who had been behind this particular trick. She had her suspicions, and they were more than confirmed through the duration of the meal. For a start, Professor Sprout seemed inordinately interested in everything Professor Sinistra had to say; most suspicious. She also sent subtle glances in McGonagall's direction from time to time, and the deputy headmistress seemed rather interested in the painting behind Snape's ear; Ailie was rather disappointed in their obviousness. Hooch, she noted, also occasionally looked Snapewards, and Poppy, on the other side of Snape, shared a few smiles with Sprout.  
  
Luckily, the two objects of their observance were too caught up in ignoring each other to notice. Ailie saw the disappointment in Madam Pomfrey's eyes as Hermione left the table and the two subjects had not yet said a word. She smiled to herself; they tried to set up such people as Snape and Hermione and expected immediate results?  
  
When Minerva and Hooch rose to leave the table, Ailie also rose. She caught up with them in the hallway.  
  
'You guys had better be a little less obvious,' she said, as she passed. The two teachers stared at her, and she shrugged. 'Snape's not an idiot, you know.' She chuckled as she headed for her rooms.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Regardless of Ailie's opinion, Snape had been feeling a bit of an idiot, or as much of an idiot as his pride would allow, at the breakfast table. This morning's... conversation with Granger had startled him. He hadn't noticed the strength of his ire when he was around her- a dangerous thing when he had the unfortunate habit of meeting the girl in odd and isolated places.  
  
It had been unfortunate indeed. The argument had disturbed him. While quiet fury wasn't exactly out of character, the strength and swiftness of his anger was completely unusual, as was the reason for his anger. Who was he to mind if Granger made free with her affections? Such behaviour in a colleague did reflect badly on the school, yes, but really it wasn't his problem if some little Gryffindor slattern wanted to kiss all the men in London and that damned mongrel Black to her heart's content. Damn the girl anyway.  
  
Maybe he should apologise...  
  
Ill. He was definitely ill, he decided, making a mental note to have his regular check-up early this year.  
  
His thoughts were disturbed by a movement to his left, and a glimpse of telltale curly brown hair in his peripheral vision. His frown deepened. He had vaguely noticed, in some part of his brain not occupied with his inner tirade, that Filibus Flitwick had not arrived at the breakfast table, but the last thing he expected was for Granger to take his place. A swift glance to her usual spot solved the problem- Filibus was deeply engaged in conversation with Hooch, thus rendering it impossible for Hermione to take her usual seat. Clenching his teeth, Snape supposed he couldn't justifiably blame the Gryffindor toddler at his side for the inconvenience of having to avoid looking to his left for the duration of the meal. With unusual magnanimity, he decided not to treat her to his usual death glare- much better than an apology.  
  
Thinking thus, Snape settled in to his meal, almost forgiving her for preventing him, by her presence, from reaching for the eggs, butter or mustard that were placed to his left.  
  
After a while, Snape decided that some reconnoitering might be in order. After all, he had sent her off in tears this morning (had he really made her cry? He'd made her cry. And he was almost regretting it, too. It was definitely time for that check-up). His superb peripheral vision soon informed an image of a Hermione Granger who was not only outwardly composed but apparently inwardly composed as well. Snape's forehead furrowed once again, this time in confusion. She seemed perfectly fine.  
  
Snape's frown deepened. Well, she had no right to be fine! Here he was, sitting here, feeling almost- but not quite- slightly bad about making her cry, and she had the nerve to turn up to breakfast looking absolutely edible and completely serene!  
  
Resisting the urge to clench his fist, Snape composedly cut a piece of bacon into very, very small pieces and proceeded to eat. He was resisting the message his brain was sending him, that he had described Hermione Granger as edible. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted to stay angry at her, and wanted her to be upset and timid and definitely not sitting at his side calmly reading a book. With her lips slightly parted just *so* and a fork held in her delicate and graceful fingers. And her hair caressing her neck. Snape bit down unnecessarily hard on his mouthful of food, accidentally catching the inside of his cheek. A habit of a lifetime ensured that he showed no sign of pain, but somewhere inside him he wished he was the sort of person who could jump up and down and scream, or at least go 'ow.'  
  
At that moment, Hermione put down her book. She appeared to be preparing to leave. Snape eased his tense hold on his fork. Now, perhaps, he could have a relaxing cup of luke-warm tea before classes began for the day. As Hermione stood up, however, and his hand was reaching for the tea- pot, Snape felt her lean close to his ear. He barely had time to frown at her before she began to speak.  
  
'If you ever speak to me again as you did this morning, Snape,' she said, 'I will hex you until bits fall off.' With a cold and thoroughly un- Hermionelike smile, she turned and swept out the side door in a rustle of blue velvet. Snape stared at his hand, poised in mid-air over the tea-pot, for a moment, before gathering his senses and putting his hand back beside his plate.  
  
Well, that had certainly been different.  
  
Snape wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose, to prepare for his first class of the morning. Hermione's scent, as with all distinctive scents that came in close proximity of his well-trained senses, stayed with him.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Poppy Pomfrey shared a look with Professor Sprout as the dark potions master swept out of the dining hall. With unspoken agreement, they both rose and headed for the main hall.  
  
'Well, that was a complete washout,' said Poppy. 'They didn't speak to each other the whole meal.'  
  
'I suppose it's too much to hope that they were dashing off for a quick snog before classes,' said Sprout dismally.  
  
'I know it's too much to hope for progress so soon,' added Poppy pensively, 'but I really did think there would be something. A 'good morning' at least.'  
  
Sprout looked thoughtful. 'Well, there was something. Did you see Severus's face as he left the hall? I've never seen him with an expression like that before.'  
  
'Yes, I see what you mean,' said Poppy. 'Sort of thoughtful, but surprised as well. Which is interesting, seeing as Hermione walked out of the hall with her nose up in the air- I would have though whatever she said to him was designed to set him off, rather than calm him down.'  
  
'Did you notice the way Hermione was dressed this morning?' asked Sprout. 'Her hair all down and curly, and those robes as well. Almost like a young witch wanting to attract someone, hmm?'  
  
Poppy smiled. 'Well, as Freya would say, I hope they get on with it. There's a danger the two of them will never do anything about it, at this rate.' Sprout nodded her head in sad agreement.  
  
Little did the two witches know that soon, a small accident would further their cause far more than any of their plans. 


	23. I wish I could say that everyone was wro...

Disclaimer: Not mine. Hers. Except Ailie.  
  
Long A/N (skip down the next three paragraphs if you're in a hurry): I got a lot of comments about the cliffhanger of the last chapter- I'm really sorry, I didn't know it was that much of a cliffie, and besides, you wouldn't expect me to resolve it right away, would you? They don't call me a sadist for nothing. So. not much resolution this chapter, sorry. You'll find out soon enough.  
  
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed me. As ff.net doesn't have a hit count unless you pay for it, I don't know that someone's read this unless you review, and it does my little author's heart good. To answer some questions: Angel, thanks for the idea. I'm not really sure what's going to happen at the end, and it's a looooong way off. To everyone else: someone mentioned a worry that because I didn't update for so long, I was going to forget the story. Please, don't worry. I've written 100,000 words of this story now and I'm not going to let it go to waste.  
  
Oh, one thing: while Hermione's actual bathroom is my fantasy, others have done similar things with bathrooms and they deserve acknowledgment. The primary one I can think of is Bill's pool in Jewel of the Nile, but there are countless others. Okay, on with the story.  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-Three- I wish I could say that everyone was wrong  
  
  
  
It was during a cozy chat over tea the following Saturday that McGonagall managed to get Hermione talking about the upcoming ball, and her plans for it. It only took a few subtle hints in the area of her research to suggest to Hermione that the students should experience the solstice the way Ailie experienced it, and the girl's fertile mind pounced on ways to achieve that goal; the most logical of which was to use a potion. A few days later, Hooch suggested to Flitwick that Hermione might, in her usual style, be overloading herself. Sprout slipped in mentions of Hermione's lack of progress with transformio solutions (all of which was pure fiction- Hermione had barely begun her research at that point) when Snape came down to the greenhouses for ingredients. Minerva casually mentioned one evening to Albus the magnitude of the task Hermione had taken on, and the difficulty of a potion such as the transformio, and Albus, sufficiently twinkly, had agreed that it would be a good idea to ask Severus to assist their young organiser.  
  
All in all, it didn't take much arguing from Dumbledore to convince Snape that he should be the one to help Hermione in her work. The old wizard was careful to couch the request in a commanding tone, thereby giving his young colleague the excuse of being ordered to do the job. He chuckled as he climbed the stairs leading out of the dungeons.  
  
'"If Miss Granger finds the task too hard and needs a babysitter," indeed,' he said to himself. The tabby cat sitting at his feet purred in agreement.  
  
Later that evening, Hermione was pondering the reason for the smirk her new dinner companion had displayed at mealtime. She hadn't looked at him during the meal, of course, still being angry for the argument of a few days previous, but her peripheral vision had informed her of the very slight aura of smugness that had been emanating from the usually impenetrable man beside her. It confused her.  
  
Distractedly, she turned her attention back to the woman across the way from her, surprised to see her old transfiguration teacher looking perplexed. She risked a glance at Ailie, seated between them in front of the fire. The other girl was occupied with the dancing flames, no help at all.  
  
'Is something wrong, Minerva?' Hermione asked, concerned. The older witch looked up at her, forcing a smile.  
  
'Well, my dear, now that you ask...' Hermione groaned inwardly. That was never a good beginning to a conversation. However, the witch surprised her by saying next, 'How are your plans for the ball going?'  
  
'Fine,' the younger girl answered, with a slight grimace. 'Though it is turning out to be a bigger task than I thought.'  
  
McGonagall gave her a small smile, and Hermione knew that the other shoe was about to drop.  
  
'Now that you mention it, dear,' the old witch said, with an anxious tone, 'Albus has been hearing reports that you might not be coping well.'  
  
Not one to easily accept criticism, Hermione opened her mouth to voice her indignation when Minerva shook her head. 'I didn't mean that, Hermione. Perhaps it would have been better put to say that some of the staff are worried that you might over-work yourself.'  
  
Slowly, Hermione nodded. It was true that she had felt a little stretched lately. Not that she couldn't cope with a little extra work, she reminded herself, but there was a problem with the transformio...  
  
She was surprised, then, to hear McGonagall continue, 'And, well, Albus thought it might be a good idea if he assigned someone to help you. Someone who might be able to assist on the more difficult tasks you've taken on, such as the transformio potion.'  
  
Hermione looked up at her former teacher, slightly lost. Minerva raised her eyebrows, then said, flatly, 'Professor Snape.'  
  
'*What?*' Hermione gasped. Words were lost on her for a second, then she said, 'Forgive me, Professor McGonagall, but who on earth expects me to work with that man? Not that he'd even agree to it,' she added to herself.  
  
'Albus has already asked him, my dear,' McGonagall replied, with a chuckle at being addressed so formally by her former student. Hermione glared into the fire for a few minutes, before sighing.  
  
'Well, I do need help with the transformio solution, and I suppose that he is the potions master,' she finally muttered. 'But how on earth I'm expected to work with him in that damp old dungeon...'  
  
'He's not such a bad choice, Hermione,' Ailie piped up, startling Hermione and McGonagall both. Both witches stared at the Wiccan girl, and she shrugged. 'Well, he's linked to me, isn't he? That means he has a sort of link with nature too, through me. He's really the best wizard you could have, working on a potion that links people with the rhythm of the earth.'  
  
Hermione looked at McGonagall, and the other woman nodded. 'Yes,' she said, 'that's true. Besides, Hermione, Severus Snape isn't called a master of potions for nothing. He really is the best person on staff to be helping you with such a project.'  
  
Unable to argue with such reasoning, Hermione reconciled herself to the plan, and stared into the fire thinking. She missed the little twinkle shared between her two friends as they watched her.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
The pairing of Snape and Hermione Granger went off with relatively little fuss. The morning after Hermione was informed that Snape would be helping her, Dumbledore casually mentioned that if both had the evening free, it would be a good idea to start their collaboration straight away, thus neatly removing any chance of either backing out. After a pause, Snape began to suggest- or command- a time for her to meet him in the dungeons, only to have her interrupt him.  
  
'I believe eight o'clock will be a good time,' she said, casually buttering her toast, 'If you would care to meet me in my rooms?'  
  
Snape glared at the young girl, but she merely took a delicate bite of her toast.  
  
'I would think,' he said in his coldest tone, 'that my office would be a more appropriate place.'  
  
Hermione put down her toast with deliberate care and turned to look at him. 'Perhaps. But, as this is my project, I felt that my rooms would be a more comfortable setting. The potion doesn't absolutely require a dark and dampened dungeon as an ingredient, after all.' She gave him a small smile, and, while he was still summoning up a suitably biting reply, left.  
  
Having a fairly free day- she was only due to assist in Flitwick's fifth year charms class before a free afternoon- Hermione decided to set to work and convert her rooms. It had never occurred to her before that, instead of having to wait for permission from Snape whenever she wanted to experiment with her potions work, she could simply create her own lab in her rooms. This thought prompted more musings- when she first moved back to Hogwarts, she had been so grateful to be accepted as a member of staff that she hadn't paid attention to her surroundings. It now occurred to her that she was under no obligation to leave the rooms as they were presented to her, lovely as they were. She smiled to herself as she stood in the middle of her living room, contemplating- as Harry had once said, when they were trying to prevent Ron being killed by a plant, 'You're a witch, Hermione!'  
  
It took a quick trip to the library for Hermione to refresh herself on the spells and incantations she would need, and an afternoon of adjustments before she was reasonably satisfied. In the dimness of twilight, she was pleased with the result of her efforts. Her little sitting room was now extended to include a study chamber, complete with lab table, in a cosy enclave. The rest of the sitting room was decorated in shades of red, cream and gold- mostly because she knew that having to remain in a room with predominantly Gryffindor colours would drive Snape slowly but surely mad, although the colours did have a warming effect on Hermione. The dark red colour of the walls paired with the cream curtains and gold features surrounding her wide windows was surprisingly calming. Hermione briefly considered establishing a large Gryffindor mural on one of the walls, but had decided against it; there was a danger of Snape flatly refusing to work there if she went too far. She had settled for a small Gryffindor shield magically carved into the white marble of the fireplace.  
  
She had taken a leaf out of the great hall's book for her bedroom, and had magically charmed it to show her the night sky. She thought perhaps she might one day charm it to show the day as well, but for the moment the night sky hanging in her bedroom somehow appealed to her. The rest of the room was decorated in blue and gold, with her bed curtains the only bright spot in cream.  
  
The bathroom was where the hard work was put in, and Hermione felt secretly proud of her work there. The incantation to enchant walls and ceilings to reflect the outside world was particularly hard. The incantation to enchant walls and ceilings to reflect the musings of the imagination varied depending on the intricacy of the image. Add movement to that, and the spells became even more intricate and complicated.  
  
Walking in to the glass box that was now her bathroom, Hermione didn't bother to hide a smile of delight. Her bathroom now appeared to be a glass box underwater, with light streaming in from up above. She had settled on tiling the floor in a deep bluey-green, after a few queasy tries at charming the floor to be watery and deep. Visible through the walls was the sandy bottom of the ocean. It was as though her bathroom was sitting just off shore from a desert island.  
  
She leant down and turned on the taps for her bath. Her time as prefect and Head Girl had allowed her access to the stately bathrooms reserved for those positions, but she had never really felt clean after taking a bath in what appeared to be a pool. Her own bath was just slightly bigger than normal size, and set slightly into the floor. Her shower- better for those rushed mornings- was set in a corner, created so that the water would appear to pour from the ceiling. A dressing table, with plush seat, large gilt mirror and wide table space was a splash of gold in another corner of the spacious bathroom.  
  
The water continued to pour as Hermione walked back into her bedroom and out through the sitting room to her new lab. There were quite a few new stores she would need to stock up on, but she knew that she had a few essential oils left over from her student days... Her eyes quickly lit on the small bottles, and it was a matter of minutes to mix up a relaxing concoction for her bath. Quickly, she moved back to the bathroom, pouring some of the mixture in before turning the taps off.  
  
Watching the waves crash overhead, Hermione relaxed into her bath. For the first time she could remember, she was sitting in a room that was completely her own creation. When she had been small, her parents had let her help choose the colours of her room, but it really wasn't the same. This apartment felt like more than a set of rooms now. It felt like home.  
  
A small frown creased Hermione's forehead. There was something missing still. Hmm... Of course. With a smile, Hermione grabbed her wand and whispered, 'audio Satie Gymnopedie five.' The tinkling notes of the classical piano piece filtered through the air, and Hermione settled back, glad that she had absorbed most of her parents music collection into her wand last summer.  
  
The music lulled her into a half-sleep, and it was much, much later that a rather waterlogged Hermione emerged from her bathroom. A glance at the clock told her that she was too late to catch dinner, but she didn't really mind. She was so relaxed after her bath that a meal alone before the fire sounded far more appealing. Some quick organisation with the house elves saw Hermione seated at her table by the window, enjoying a superb beef fillet and a small glass of wine. She could almost feel the clinging folds of her childhood finally falling away from her.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape felt slightly awkward as he stood before the door to Hermione's chambers. In most cases, staff had an office separate to their private quarters. Hermione, not being a full member of staff, had no proper office to take over, and as far as Snape knew hadn't asked for one. To be visiting Granger in such a personal space went severely against the grain, even though it was for the purposes of work.  
  
Pushing aside his temporary squeamishness, Snape knocked sharply on the door before him, and waited.  
  
It was only a few seconds before Hermione opened the door for him, her eyes sparkling strangely. The waft of her scent the movement sent his way occupied Snape for a short time, and so his reaction to the new decoration of Hermione's rooms was slightly delayed. When he did, however, he was unable to hide a grimace, and noted a momentary merriment spark through his companion's eyes. So the witch did this on purpose, he thought. Interesting.  
  
As soon as he was able, Snape began to voice his concerns about the lack of a lab- accompanied by the usual sneer- when Hermione walked to what used to be the far corner of her sitting room, drawing his attention to an alcove there. It clearly contained all the essentials for any experiments they would need, including, as he found out when he was about to complain, perfectly adequate lighting and ventilation.  
  
The rest of the evening seemed to coast on the bafflement Hermione had established in the beginning. Snape found himself offering information merely to defend himself from another surprise. Gradually, the work took over, and Snape calmly listened as Hermione went over her research. By the time eleven o'clock came around, the two of them had reviewed all of Hermione's- as usual extensive- notes, and all in relative harmony. They agreed to meet for testing as soon as Hermione could acquire the extra ingredients they would need from Hogsmeade.  
  
'Thank you, Professor Snape,' she said as she showed him from the door. Snape carried the picture in his mind of her sitting, still at work, at the table, extending him the courtesy of his title for the first time in weeks, all the way back to the dungeons. It was the first time to memory that he had disliked hearing himself so respectfully addressed.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Ailie looked around the magical terrace upon which she sat. As time went by, the strangeness of wizard magic was wearing off on her; she could now sit in this secret little garden, perfectly warm, as magic kept the chill of a last nasty lash by the departed winter away from her.  
  
She smiled at Minerva McGonagall as the other woman poured her another cup of herbal tea.  
  
'You know,' the older witch said, 'it might be a good idea to discuss with Esmerelda a course in plant healing for the students.'  
  
Beside her, his feet out in the sun, Albus Dumbledore absently nodded his head.  
  
'Yes, a very good idea, Minerva. Ailie's knowledge could be very valuable to the students,' he said. Ailie smiled widely.  
  
'Do you really mean it?' she asked, feeling excitement bubble up inside her. 'There is so much in plant lore that young people can use. To be able to teach it again-' She broke off, aware of a tinge of sadness in her tone. She had been in charge of some parts of the education of the younger members of her coven Unwilling to let it affect her, Ailie pushed the feeling aside and concentrated on the proposed task. 'When do you think we could begin?'  
  
Minerva smiled. 'Well, we would need to discuss it with Esmerelda, though I'm certain she wouldn't mind. And, of course, you would need to fit it in with the course structure.' She glanced at Albus, and inclined her head. 'We could perhaps organise a session to begin with, don't you think? Next week?'  
  
'A perfect time,' smiled the headmaster. 'You could perhaps teach the students one of your marvellous brews for tea,' he added, to Ailie. 'It might keep the smuggling of butterbeer down for a time.'  
  
His colleague looked slightly contemplative for a moment. 'If we placed you in Hermione's teaching period, it wouldn't disrupt Esmerelda's schedule too much.'  
  
'I wouldn't want to get in Hermione's way,' Ailie said, concerned. 'She's the one supposed to be teaching, not me.'  
  
'I'm certain Miss Granger will be delighted to fit you into her class schedule,' Dumbledore said, leaning back once more to have a snooze under his hat.  
  
'Besides, Hermione has been rather busy with plans for the ball. It will do her good to have a slight rest,' McGonagall said.  
  
Ailie gave a sly glance at the older woman and took a sip of her tea. 'Yes,' she said after a pause. 'She and Snape have been at it for several nights in a row, you know.'  
  
McGonagall raised her eyebrows, merriment in her eyes. 'Oh, really?' she said with a small grin, before remembering herself. She cleared her throat. 'Well, it is good that their preparations for the ball are moving so swiftly,' she added, trying to keep her expression sober.  
  
'How are Severus and Hermione coping with it all?' Dumbledore's sleepy voice enquired from beneath his hat.  
  
'He's taking a lot of cold showers,' Ailie said unthinkingly. She realised what she had said, and clamped her mouth shut, horrified. Dumbledore often seemed omnipotent, but surely an elderly wizard like him wouldn't have picked up on the plots and plans regarding those two...?  
  
Her answer came with a barely audible chuckle from the direction of the hat. 'Good, good,' the old man said.  
  
Ailie settled back to drink her tea, blushing.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Severus Snape was having a shower. Not a cold shower; no, the experience of the last few days had taught him that that old trick did not work. Neither did pacing, stalking the corridors, conducting experiments, and, yes, even banging his head against a wall. So the shower was hot; scaldingly hot. It was his last resort, and, thankfully, it seemed to be working.  
  
Someone out there was out to get him, he knew. This whole- working- with Hermione thing was just too much to take. She seemed to have found a way to frustrate him beyond endurance- and not the type of frustration that the Neville Longbottoms of the world wreaked upon him. If she was nice to him for one more hour, he swore, he would push the books off that damned table and put it to better use.  
  
One fist clenched around the cold water tap and turned it on full, as the image passing through his mind had its effect on his body. Apparently hot water had its limitations. Damn it.  
  
When he had left this evening, Hermione had been bent over a set of estimations, her hair pulled up out of her face in a loose bun, her features lit by the firelight. She had been confident and polite the whole evening, giving him no reason to pick a fight with her. Just like she had been for almost the past week, saying good morning every morning with a half-smile, titling him 'Professor' every time she had to address him by name, in fact giving him every respect that was due to him when she was a student, this time without the badly concealed antipathy. Yet, at the same time, she was obviously not harkening back to feelings of her school days. There was an underlying confidence about her now, an assurance. Something that told him that he could no longer intimidate her like a frightened schoolgirl.  
  
Why did that quality have to be so gods-damned appealing?  
  
Snape had always been attracted to women his own age or even older, mostly because of their capacity to be assured of themselves, and had always preferred intelligent women. A certain type of classic beauty had also attracted his interest. As it stood now, the only quality Hermione Granger was lacking on his list was age, and the need for that requirement was rapidly fading in importance.  
  
If he could only get her to fight with him again, things would return to normal, he knew. If only she would return to her childish resistance, or just regain that element of innocent helplessness that angered him so, everything would be fine.  
  
The thing was, she was still Hermione Granger. She was still abominably Gryffindor, still a know-it-all who spent hours poring over a book for some obscure fact. She just wasn't afraid of him any more.  
  
And it made him want to take that intriguing body of hers and kiss every inch until she promised never to call him 'Professor' again.  
  
It wasn't as though she was purposely trying to drive him mad, though he was sure she would laugh if she knew. If she had been doing it on purpose, he would have had plentiful cause to pick a fight and rid himself of this terrible frustration. As yet, she hadn't given him any reason whatsoever to have even a mild disagreement with her; every time he said something designed to provoke her, she had, with damnable calm, rebutted him, and continued with her work. Which was wreaking havok with his nervous system.  
  
Snape desperately tried to remind himself that he wasn't attracted to this woman. She was an ex-student, she hated him, and she was far too young to capture his interest. It was merely his under-active hormones reacting to the presence of a beautiful young body. Yes, that's the thought Severus, her young body. You're too young to become a dirty old man, old man. These thoughts are just some strange hormonal reaction.  
  
Resolvedly turning the frigid water back to scorching hot, some part of Snape wondered at his capacity for self-denial.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
In her own rooms, Hermione's capacity for denial was firmly in place. She felt that the project with Snape was going surprisingly well. Considering the difficulties they had had in the past, she had expected more difficulties, but Professor Snape was just as interested in the work as she was, and they had managed to put their differences aside.  
  
She was in no way affected by the silky tones of his voice, drifting through the night as he read a passage from one of the texts to her or suggested a new angle to their experiments. The image of his graceful movements preparing potion ingredients, his long, nimble fingers moving with swiftness and ease, did not remain with her hours after he left at night. If his stare sometimes haunted her dreams, or the night sky hanging over her bed sometimes saw her tossing and turning for hours with frustrated longing, the morning held no memory of it.  
  
And if there was a slight bounce in her step, it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that his breathing sometimes came quicker when she was near. It couldn't, because she hadn't noticed it.  
  
With a yawn, she reached for a letter an owl had delivered earlier. It was, hopefully, some information she and Severus had been waiting for. She smiled. She had gone over a lesson plan with Ailie for next week, a move which had given her an extra two hours tomorrow to work on the transformio potion. At this rate, they would be finished weeks before the potion was required, and all without any fuss.  
  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
It was amazing how the grass managed to fight its way through the cold snow, Ailie thought as she walked around the deserted grounds of Hogwarts. It was so cold, yet the brave little peaks of green fought their way upward through frozen earth. She leant down and brushed her hand over the little tufts, feeling only their brush against her skin. It was not so long ago that such a move would have sent a little spurt of earth energy dancing on her fingertips.  
  
Forcing a smile, Ailie continued walking. This whole wizard magic thing really was growing on her. It was fascinating, really. Magic coming out the end of a pointy stick, without having to ask for it, without having to thank the earth for it...  
  
Spring would soon defrost the snow. Everywhere would be touched by the rising of the new year, even the caves up in the hills of her birthplace... Ailie bit the inside of her cheek and changed thoughts. Spring, yes. With summer following close behind. The plants in Professor Sprout's greenhouses would soon be in full bloom, and the children's lessons in plant lore could begin. Yes, so much to do before summer, when the children would be going home for a few months. She might even be offered a permanent place here if she offered enough skill.  
  
Wizarding magic. Wizarding world. It was all too fascinating. Much better than having to ask, having to learn the movements of the earth. And she was so much busier here.  
  
With a determined stride, Ailie made her way back into the castle, heading for the library to find something to be busy with.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape was contemplating having an afternoon cup of tea before making his way to Hermione's rooms to check on their project, when the object of his thoughts herself burst into his office. Snape raised a leisurely eyebrow at her entrance, but his gesture went unnoticed by the obviously irate girl.  
  
'What in hell do you think you're doing, Snape? Whatever gave you the- the right?'  
  
'I'm not fully certain,' he drawled, half-amused at her outburst, 'as I do not know what you're referring to.'  
  
Hermione shook her head, pacing around the room. 'I can't believe you would-' she began, then something in her expression closed. 'No, of course you would. You practically have to.'  
  
The look she gave him was not the first he had received in anger from her, but it awoke his ire. 'Miss Granger what, exactly, are you referring to?' Snape said, his voice dangerously low.  
  
She shook her head at him, giving a humourless laugh. 'Of course. You've done so many stupid, arrogant things today I suppose you wouldn't know one from the other. Well, let me jog your memory. I believe you know a- scientist-' she spat the word- 'by the name of Lingua d'Avarro? You wrote to him?' Snape merely inclined his head, wondering what his colleague could have to do with her anger. The casual gesture seemed to irritate her further. 'I don't know why I should be so surprised that you would voluntarily associate with such a man.' She shook her head and swallowed, a disgusted look on her face. 'I had the dubious pleasure of receiving his reply this afternoon.'  
  
Snape again raised an eyebrow, this time in surprise. He hadn't mentioned Hermione by name in his current correspondence with the London scientist, and had given no reason for the man to contact her. He caught sight of a parchment in Hermione's hand, and inclined his head toward it, only to have her throw it at his head. Snape felt a flash of anger at the childish action.  
  
'Miss Granger, I will thank you to behave as an adult when you are in my office-'  
  
'Go to hell.' Hermione glared at him, her cheeks high with colour and emotion. 'You told that bastard that I- that we-'  
  
Snape retrieved the parchment and tried to smooth it out. Knowing his colleague, the assertions made in the parchment would not be pleasant.  
  
'Miss Granger, if you are upset at any insinuations Lingua made, I can do no more-'  
  
Hermione glared at him, her eyes flashing with anger. 'I think you've done enough, thank you very much. Do you even know how much danger you've put Ailie in?' She caught his surprised look and laughed derisively. 'After informing your friend of her existence-'  
  
'I did no such thing,' Snape interrupted, glaring at her.  
  
'I don't believe you. It's all there.' Hermione clenched her hands into fists at her sides. 'You have never taken your responsibility for Ailie seriously, but really-'  
  
'I have done nothing but take care of her, ever since she arrived,' Snape spat, aware of the unfairness of the accusation. Hermione carried on, heedlessly.  
  
'-to be endangering Ailie like this, when you've already done so much to her-'  
  
'There was nothing I did to that dratted girl aside from save her impudent life, and gods know I've been paying for it ever since-'  
  
Hermione sneered at him. 'Of course, you have to bring that up, don't you? You think that just because you brought her to safety, it makes up for what you have done?'  
  
Slightly stunned at the strength of her rancour, Snape bit back. 'You stupid little girl. Do you think I'm not fully aware of the consequences-'  
  
Hermione didn't give him a chance to finish his thought. 'It doesn't take much to make the connection. This man could be a Death Eater-'  
  
Snape sneered. 'Miss Granger, I can assure you I am fully aware of the dangers. Do you really think I of all people am unaware of who is a Death Eater and who is not?'  
  
'I used to believe in your judgement, Snape. That is the only way I've been a- a stupid little girl.' Tears were glittering in Hermione's eyes, but her anger still held. 'Mudblood I may be, Snape, but- *whore* I am not. And you are still a murdering Death Eater bastard.' Silence resounded in his office after she had gone and slammed the door.  
  
The parchment she had brought in wasn't so crumpled any more, but Snape smoothed it several times with his fingers before reading it. The words fell on a vacant mind, seeming to make no sense. Things slowly drifted through his head, only the occasional thought bobbing up by itself. There were no telltale water-marks from tears, he saw, and Severus was idly thankful that Hermione was not the dramatic type. The edges of the paper, however, were rather crumpled, as something that had been held in an anxious grip. Eventually, he was able to comprehend enough to actually read the letter.  
  
It began: 'Dear Severus, Well, you've finally got your hands on that little mudblood whore you've always complained about, hey? I must say, there have been some rumours about the little piece of meat, maybe she did get a helping hand here and there as Lucius has always told me...'  
  
It wasn't long before the parchment was in a crumpled ball again.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
And I want a TV embrace  
  
And I, I'm getting off your boiling plate  
  
They swore you'd steal my steam to feed your dream  
  
And then be gone  
  
I wish I could say that everyone was wrong -Ben Lee, 'Cigarettes Will Kill You' 


	24. To tread this fantasy openly what have I...

Disclaimer: I hereby attest that I do not wish to claim, charm, copy, fernergle, tap dance on or glance slyly at any of the characters or situations in this story, all of which belong to the Hon. J.K Rowling and her various masters. Except Ailie, who is mine, the character that I have, who is my character, for me to have. Although, I have to say the way JK is going the whole 50-year copyright thing may happen before she gets around to releasing another damned book in this series. But I digress.  
  
A/N: Happy new year! Here is the room for them to be locked in.  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-Four- To tread this fantasy openly what have I done?  
  
  
  
No-one was brave enough to enquire what had happened between Snape and Hermione in the next week. Not even the omnipotence of Dumbledore could discern what had created the sudden icy silence between the two. Ailie seemed incapable of whittling the information out either, neither through coercion in Hermione's case, or intuition in Snape's.  
  
Though it wasn't totally unexpected by Hogwarts staff that the two should argue, the absolute frostiness between them was disturbing. Wizards didn't get to a reasonable age without developing a sixth sense, and the feeling whenever the two of them were in a room together was different to just a normal argument. Several of the staff were worried. Flitwick had swapped back to his old spot for meals, 'to save Hermione the trouble,' although it made little difference as both teachers avoided meals as far as possible. McGonagall attempted to talk to Hermione, even trying to get her to loosen up with a few drinks with the other women, but without directly prying there was nothing she could do.  
  
'Ailie, you must know what's going on,' said Poppy one day when the four witches had cornered her. Ailie just shook her head absently.  
  
'I honestly don't know. Hermione would tell me if she wanted, but she hasn't.' The young girl excused herself and headed for her rooms.  
  
Hermione acquiesced to have tea one afternoon with her headmaster, and was surprised when she arrived to see him looking quite serious.  
  
'Welcome, Hermione, my dear,' Dumbledore said, patting a chair across from him. Nervously, Hermione sat, feeling like she'd just been called out of class. The old man across from her smiled gently as he served her tea.  
  
'Child, is there anything you would like to tell me?' he asked, handing her a cup and a plate full of cookies. Hermione noted that they were coconut jam macaroons- her favourite.  
  
Taking one, she smiled. 'No sir. Everything is going quite well. The plans for the ball are well underway. I think the students will really enjoy themselves.'  
  
'That is nice, my dear, but I believe it's not quite what I meant.' The old wizard sipped his tea and stared into the fire, as Hermione grew uncomfortable. Though she had been doing a lot of growing up lately, Dumbledore had the ability to feel eleven years old again. The silence stretched between them, and Hermione began to toy with her tea cup.  
  
'Professor Dumbledore...' she began, looking down nervously.  
  
'Yes, child?'  
  
Hermione looked up into the old man's eyes, and knew it was time for her to grow up. She couldn't always run to him, crying, when life didn't go well. This was a problem she could handle by herself.  
  
'Everything is fine. The plans for the ball are coming along well.'  
  
A spark of disappointment flashed through her old master's eyes, and Hermione felt suddenly sad.  
  
'Sir...' Absently, Hermione chewed on her lower lip. 'Why do you trust Professor Snape so completely?'  
  
If Dumbledore noticed the switch back into 'student' mode, he didn't give any sign. He merely sighed.  
  
'Hermione, my dear, the many number of times I have been asked that question are beyond count,' he said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. 'And I have given many answers. But the one I will give you is; do you really think he trusts himself?'  
  
Hermione looked at the old wizard, confused, and he twinkled at her.  
  
'Severus deserves trust because he so carefully doubts his own, child. He has a greater watchdog than anyone the ministry would care to provide, always looking over his shoulder. Someone who would terrify many people, and who treats him more harshly than anyone else. Himself.'  
  
The point hit home, but Hermione still frowned. 'If he knows how hard it is to be untrusted and sneered at, why does he treat others so badly all the time? He's always so- aloof, angry with people. Half the students of the school hate him so much they'd never learn anything in his classes out of spite.' Realising that she was inadvertently criticising the man beside her, she went on, 'Not that he's a bad teacher, I mean-'  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. 'Yet another phrase I have heard many times. My dear, one thing students must learn here is that not everyone in the world is nice, or fair, or just. Severus certainly teaches them that, I will admit. Hopefully, whatever lessons he provides on the unpleasant things of the world, the rest of us make up for.' His smile was somewhat wry. He added, in a more hopeful tone, 'You may be surprised to note that our scores for potions since Severus began here have become the highest in the wizarding world. You yourself almost managed the highest mark in ten years, I believe?'  
  
Hermione resisted rolling her eyes. Draco Malfoy had beat her to the top mark in potions, no doubt with a little help from the potions master, after the disaster with the dungbomb. Dumbledore patted her hand.  
  
'Achieving less than perfection can sometimes be a help, rather than a hindrance, child.' She nodded, knowing that that was the mature answer, but somewhere inside her the little know-it-all inner child still screamed at the unjust blemish on her perfect record. She returned her attention to the man beside her as he continued, 'As for your first question, all I may do is remind you that everyone is human- yes, even myself. Minerva deals with her students by mothering them. Filibus deals with them by befriending them. You understand them. I,' he said with a tinkle, 'act like a silly old man and entertain them. And Severus frightens them.' Hermione smiled, staring into the flames.  
  
The conversation lulled for a while, Hermione lost in reflection. She understood what Dumbledore had been trying to say; knew it already, even. But that didn't remove the fact that Snape had demeaned her to his friend, labelling her in the worst way possible. She had tried to convince herself that it didn't matter, that the only reason she was angry with him was the risk to Ailie, but the words in that letter had hurt her in a way she had never been hurt before. To think she had earnt, if not his respect, then his tolerance, and to see in stark black and white the truly low opinion he had of her had demeaned her in a way he couldn't possibly have achieved with any yelled insult. She hated to admit it, but it hurt.  
  
A chime from somewhere in the room startled her out of her reverie, and Hermione sat up. It probably was time to go.  
  
'Thank you, Professor,' she said, smiling warmly at the headmaster as she handed him her cup. 'It has been nice to sit with you.'  
  
'Always a pleasure, my child. You know you are welcome here at any time.' Hermione nodded, and moved toward the door. As she reached for the handle, Dumbledore said, 'You do have friends here, Hermione, and they are concerned about you.' The old man paused for a second. 'Are you sure there is nothing I can do for you?'  
  
Hermione shook her head. 'Nothing, thank you. Just-' she paused. 'I would appreciate it if you didn't assign Professor Snape on any future projects with me.' Not waiting for an answer, Hermione walked out the door, closing it gently behind her.  
  
Alone in the office, Dumbledore stared at the closed door, a contemplative frown on his face.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Several more conversations took place. The next day, an overcast Saturday, found Dumbledore and McGonagall with tea and buttered crumpets once again on Dumbledore's terrace. The transfiguration teacher enquired, in her own way, as to the outcome of the headmaster's talk with Hermione, but to no avail. Eventually, she gave up the subtleties and asked the question in the plainest language she could come up with.  
  
'What the hell happened, Albus?'  
  
Her companion looked at her, but merely shook his head.  
  
'She didn't tell you?' McGonagall exclaimed, in surprise. It wasn't very often that the headmaster of Hogwarts didn't get any information he wanted.  
  
The old wizard across from her shrugged. 'Whatever happened between them, I am unable to tell you, Minerva.' His companion rolled her eyes, obviously picking up on his particular brand of doublespeak, and he sighed. 'She didn't tell me.'  
  
McGonagall sat back in her chair, perplexed. Dumbledore continued, startling her.  
  
'While the exact details of the incident are not yet clear to me, I am able to say one thing...' McGonagall leant eagerly forward, all attentiveness. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at her. 'Sitting them together was not exactly the most original trick, Minerva.'  
  
McGonagall pretended to find something of interest in her tea for a few moments, as her friend chuckled quietly to himself.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Another conversation took place in silence, in the confines of Hermione Granger's head. It boiled down to two questions: 'How dare he?'- the middle word emphasised and giving a hint to the furious undertone of the question- and, 'Did I really call him a murdering Death Eater bastard?' While the first question probed the subtleties of the situation as a whole, and the second was quite easily answered ('yes'), the thoughts radiating as a result of both were relatively equal in number. The phrase 'Oh, my God' took a large place in both.  
  
There was a third question, hidden under the frantic rush of thought whenever Hermione let it come to the fore of her mind. It was mostly rhetorical, if only in the despair that shrouded it. It was, 'Why did he do this?'  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
In his own head, Snape had no such conversation.  
  
In muggle science labs men in white coats placed small rodents in labyrinths laid with traps. In time, the small creatures would learn that to walk here and to ignore the nice smells would lead them out. They learnt, through experience, that to give in and to taste the tempting food would result in pain, and this developed in them a fear of the temptation. Eventually, some mice would avoid food, regardless of labyrinths or traps.  
  
Being a wizard, Snape had never heard of these experiments.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
The conversation that did occur concerning Snape was also in silence, at least on his part. Dumbledore found Snape at his desk, immersed in work. The potions master spared his headmaster a glance as the old man entered, but resumed his former pose almost immediately and gave no sign of intending to give any other recognition of Dumbledore's presence.  
  
'I hear that your work with Miss Granger has ceased, Severus,' the old wizard began. A small grunt from the potions master's direction could have been taken for assent.  
  
Silence again washed over the room, as Dumbledore studied his old friend. Having known the man before him since he was a young boy, the headmaster was familiar with the intricacies of Snape's body language- to the extent that, despite the latter's attempts to close himself off from the world, the older man could virtually see the answers to his questions in the way the younger man sat.  
  
At the moment, the signs were not good. Severus had sat up slightly straighter upon the old man's entrance, a sure sign of defensiveness. Furthermore, his expression was completely blank, schooled to show nothing of what he was thinking. Usually, something showed through, whether it be a growl, a sneer, or a sardonic glance. Dumbledore hadn't seen him this unresponsive since his student days.  
  
The headmaster glanced at the papers spread across the potions master's desk, and saw the piles of notes, corrected assignments, unfinished essays and textbooks. The desk was covered with work, as was the immediate space on the floor. This was yet another clue to the usually fastidious potions master's state of mind; Dumbledore knew that while Severus's private desk, in his private study in his chambers, was always a mess of the first order, Severus always kept his office impeccably neat, or at least to his own mind. Dark, dusty, littered with bottles of interesting specimens to frighten the unwary, but neat. It kept the students subdued, to see that their intimidating potions master was on top of his work while they, invariably, were swamped with it.  
  
Everything about the facade of this room, Dumbledore noted, said in capital letters that Severus Snape was too busy to be bothered with anything.  
  
Which was completely untrue. Exams were a few weeks away, yes, but the headmaster knew for a fact that Snape had revised the exam papers months ago. Students would now be moving into their revision period, and the number of essays the master would have to correct was the smallest of the year. The articles for Ars Alchemica that sometimes took up Severus's interest and time were no excuse, either; Dumbledore was good friends with the editor and had recently, as a favour, looked over Severus's latest paper- Snape would be waiting for the return of the article to revise it, and it wasn't usual to begin another so soon.  
  
Anyone watching the headmaster would have been surprised at his expression at that moment. His lips tightened in a very McGonagall-like way- well, you couldn't be friends with someone for over seventy years and not pick up some of their expressions- and his brows drew together. Most wouldn't have expected such a very human expression of displeasure from the aged wizard, but then again, as he had told Miss Granger, everyone was human, and the headmaster could see two people he cared about very deeply in a lot of pain, each caused by the other.  
  
With a look of determination, the headmaster rose and headed for the door. Severus, actively waiting for it, didn't look up at his departure.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Ailie sat working in the library. The power that ran through her at the moment both excited and frightened her. It was the first time since she had arrived at Hogwarts that she had felt any kind of magic run through her at all- and, even though this new kind seemed to sizzle on her skin and want to come out through her fingers, instead of flowing through her blood, it was still magic.  
  
She looked up the index and turned to the page she was looking for, her eyes lighting up as she viewed the diagrams there. There seemed so much to learn, so much to explore. She felt like she had been dumped in a new world, just like a baby, except she was fully grown. Inwardly, she was extremely grateful that, unlike the students, she was able to access any books she required in the restricted section; most of the other books were tediously infantile.  
  
Ailie flicked through a few more pages, delighting in the range of spells she found. She had already tried out a few incantations with Snape's wand when no-one was looking, and was pleased with the results. Even without an education in wizardry, she was well above the seventh-year level in most areas of commanding magic. It was lucky that Snape seemed so preoccupied lately- she was often able to take his wand and use it for a whole day without his notice.  
  
The trouble was, she was bored. She had done most of the basic things and had discovered just that; they were basic. She needed something to occupy her time, something...  
  
Her eyes lit up as she spied a complicated-looking incantation near the back of the book. It was a history book, really, but Ailie had wanted some inspiration. She had found it. Quickly, she drew her quill and began to copy down what was written there (she had not bothered to memorise such an elementary spell as a replicating spell, though she was beginning to see its good points now), curling green ink into delicate lettering. The title began: 'Aladdin's cave'...  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
When the summons came, both Hermione and Snape were surprised. Usually, if the headmaster wanted to talk to a member of staff, he summoned them in person, or with a friendly note, rather than by sending a formal letter. More surprises awaited them when they reached the office at the same time, aside from the unpleasantness of seeing that the other had also been called for a meeting with the headmaster. They were forced to wait, a most unusual occurrence when it came to the seemingly omnipotent Dumbledore. Each feeling a little perturbed, the two took opposite ends of the antechamber outside the office and settled in, carefully ignoring the other.  
  
It was ten minutes later that the door to the office opened, and a stern-faced headmaster invited them in.  
  
Only two chairs sat in front of Dumbledore's desk, and social form dictated that it would be impolite in the extreme to move them away from each other, so Snape and Hermione were forced to sit, elbows almost touching. The headmaster took his own seat and spent several seconds staring at them.  
  
'I have called you in to discuss the progress of your joint project,' he began. When neither appeared to be ready to volunteer information on the subject, he let out a small sigh and asked, 'Hermione? Any thoughts?'  
  
Hermione swallowed, feeling more of a shivering first-year than she ever had. 'We have made great progress, sir. In fact, the potion has, er, reached the point where it can be easily handled by one person.' She took a breath and added, 'Professor Snape's help isn't needed.'  
  
The headmaster gave no reaction, merely turning to Snape and inclining his head. Snape gave an imperceptible sigh and said, 'The potion has reached an adequate stage, Albus. It will be ready for the ball.'  
  
Dumbledore gave a short nod, then looked briefly down at his hands. 'Good. I will require the two of you, then, to work on new projects at least two nights a week after classes.'  
  
Hermione drew in a startled breath, and sensed Snape tensing at her side. She couldn't believe that Dumbledore was really asking them to work together again.  
  
While questions spiralled through her mind, Snape asked the most logical one.  
  
'What do you expect us to do?'  
  
Dumbledore looked at them calmly. 'I believe that the potion to dissolve the link between yourself and Ailie, Severus, wasn't satisfactorily completed?' At the other man's nod, he continued, 'The I believe it would be beneficial to begin experimentations with Hermione's research in that area. However, I also require the two of you to work on other projects; the wards against forced entry into these grounds grow less efficient every day, and may benefit from a new approach. There may be other ways to protect the students in these halls. Finally, I would like you to think about how the information Severus gathers in his contacts with Voldemort may be of use. I know there are many capable minds focused on it,' he said, waving aside Snape's unspoken objection, 'but the ministry's potions team does not have first-hand knowledge of Voldemort's weaknesses, nor the means for application, I'm afraid.'  
  
'Want a cure for the common cold as well?' Snape asked sardonically.  
  
Hermione was surprised to see that the usual glint of humour Dumbledore had whenever Snape was sarcastic was missing from his eye as the headmaster stared back.  
  
'I expect the two of you should also think about protective potions,' he added. 'The ministry have made little progress in adapting them to your particular needs, Severus, despite your tutor's input.'  
  
Hermione looked up. 'Professor Snape has a tutor?'  
  
Snape glared at her. 'Yes, you stupid girl. Did you really think that the only potions master in all of the British Isles spent his days teaching adolescents?'  
  
Despite herself, Hermione felt a hideous blush creep over her cheeks. She mustered up enough ire to glare at him. 'No. To tell the truth, I didn't think about it.' She turned back to Dumbledore, ignoring the muttered, 'Obviously,' from the man at her side.  
  
'Sir, surely we can work on these things separately?' she asked, inwardly pleading with whatever gods might be listening. There was no way she could be in the same room as the sarcastic potions master for two nights- at least- per week.  
  
Dumbledore gave her a stern look. 'Hermione,' he said, then transferred his gaze to Snape, 'Severus. An old fool I may be, but it would be impossible to miss the fact that the two of you appear to have had some form of disagreement.' He raised his eyebrows at them, inviting them to deny it, but both remained silent. 'Animosity is something that we cannot afford in this school at this time. It is too important when everyone- yes, even you, Severus- must rely on each other. There may come a day when our lives depend on it.'  
  
Hermione felt how earnest the headmaster was, but nevertheless felt she had to say something. 'Professor,' she began, 'I understand the importance of that. But I really feel that Professor Snape and I would be able to achieve more if we just- well, we don't seem to work well together- '  
  
'What the infant is attempting to say, Albus, is that it is impossible for anything to be achieved when an experienced potions master like myself is encumbered with a child,' Snape drawled. Hermione glared at him.  
  
'Oh, that's a mature attitude,' she spat. 'I have such a good example to follow.'  
  
'Enough!' Dumbledore's voice, steely and odd coming from the usually kind man, startled them both. 'The two of you have said enough. You will work together. This is far too important to be ruined by petty and childish disagreements, am I clear? I am disappointed in both of you.' With a click of his fingers, the headmaster caused the door to open, then raised his hand to rub the spot between his eyebrows, looking every inch a tired old man. Thoroughly shocked, the two members of his staff rose and left, Snape gently closing the door behind them. Both would have been even more stunned if they had seen Dumbledore straighten immediately on their departure, the facade wiped away and a small smile upon his face.  
  
As many would have realised, Albus Dumbledore was a master manipulator. Nobody said he always had to be nice about it.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Ailie grinned as the final few whispered words of the spell wrapped themselves around the object, enclosing the enchantment. It was perfect. True, having to use a milk jug- unfortunately, ornate bottles weren't the most prolific item lying around the school kitchens- took away some of the effect, but it was close enough. Happy, she carefully picked up all the ingredients of the enchantment and put them back in their proper places, careful not to touch the jug that stood on Snape's desk.  
  
He was in for one hell of a surprise.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape tersely commanded that Hermione meet him in the dungeons after dinner, and, against all her instincts, Hermione calmly agreed. While it would have done her fighting spirit good to defy him and not turn up, she knew what Dumbledore had said was true; it was important that everyone in the castle work together, and to do otherwise would be childish.  
  
Dinner was a pleasant serving of roast pork with vegetables and gravy done to perfection, but it refused to sit still in her stomach. By the time she reached her rooms to grab her notes and some parchment, Hermione felt sick, but she made her way down to the dungeons anyway. Approaching the dreaded door to his office, the words of their last confrontation ran through her head, along with the many imagined scenarios of recent stark nights; Snape laughing at her, Snape reporting to his friends her every action, chuckled whispers in corners. The shame of it, of what he thought of her, made her cheeks burn. It didn't seem to matter that a little voice in her head told her otherwise.  
  
While she was still calming herself enough to go in, the door was wrenched open and Snape himself was glaring down at her.  
  
'Get in,' he directed, sweeping back to his desk. Holding her head high, Hermione stepped into the room and claimed a chair, laying her books and notes neatly on the edge of the desk.  
  
'We will begin by revising the results of the failed potion,' Snape began, busying himself at the bookshelves behind his desk. 'It is possible there was a flaw in your reasoning, or a mistake when you copied down the recipe. We will look over your notes, and you will remember whatever you can of the books you took them from-'  
  
Under the barrage of veiled insults, Hermione looked around her. She couldn't recall Snape's office having been so cluttered the last time she had seen it. The potions master himself, she noted now that she had the opportunity, wasn't looking in particular top form either. He seemed to have lost weight, and his skin was looking more translucent than usual. She wondered if he had been called to his other duties recently, or if the dark mark on his arm was giving him trouble.  
  
Something unusual amongst the clutter on his desk caught her eye. It was a milk jug, a large white one with a China-blue pattern. Her brow creased in a frown. How odd. She reached to pick it up.  
  
Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, Snape noticed the movement, and the focus of it. Years of experience screamed out at him, and he frowned. He opened his mouth to say, 'Leave it alone, you stupid girl,' but never quite got there, because at the same time, his grasping hand connected with hers, in the instant she touched the jug.  
  
Existence, for them, winked out.  
  
It felt like there should have been a 'pop.'  
  
  
  
  
  
I can't move this thing any more recognise me any more to tread this fantasy openly what have I done? oh this uncertainty is taking me over -Portishead, 'Over' 


	25. Ailie Genius

Disclaimer: I did nothing to that cat. It was like that when I found it. Oh, and the story's JK's, except Ailie. So ner, you can't have her, JK. Nerny nerny ner ner.  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-Five Ailie = Genius.  
  
  
  
'Which spell was it, exactly?' McGonagall asked. Ailie trembled in her chair.  
  
She hadn't known it would be like this. It seemed the staff of Hogwarts couldn't take a simple joke. As soon as the unconscious forms of Hermione and Snape had been discovered in his office, earlier that evening, it had seemed to the Wiccan girl that bedlam had broken loose. She had been roused from her bed by a solemn-faced McGonagall, who told her that somehow, Hermione and Snape had been attacked. Was there anything she could pick up from Snape that could help them?  
  
Ailie had been confused, at first. Then she had been shown Snape's office, with its knocked over chair and milk jug conspicuously on its side. Her chuckles had startled both McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, who had been checking for traces of dark magic.  
  
Her subsequent explanations had led her to this room, Dumbledore's office, and what felt like an interrogation. The milk jug containing the essences of Hermione and Snape stood on the headmaster's desk.  
  
'The genius spell, very clever,' Flitwick said, leaning closer to inspect the design on the jug. 'The milk jug was an unusual touch, I have to say.'  
  
With a murmured word, Dumbledore ushered the eager little charms professor out of the room, asking him to dig up everything he had on the spell and its reversal.  
  
Returning to sit at the desk, Dumbledore considered the young Wiccan before him.  
  
'This spell has very serious repurcussions, Ailie,' he said. 'You do know that the two of them will be trapped there until they guess your password?'  
  
'That's if they know to guess at all,' McGonagall said, trembling with rage. 'Really, Ailie, I would have thought you-'  
  
Dumbledore shushed her with a raised hand, returning his attention to Ailie. 'Minerva, I believe our young charge is beginning to realise the truth of what she has done. The question is, how do we repair the damage of her actions?'  
  
'I didn't know Hermione would be stuck in there too,' Ailie said, guiltily looking down at her hands. What had seemed fun a few hours ago now seemed like a very stupid idea indeed. 'I thought Snape would get out of it, no problem.'  
  
'Unfortunately, I do not believe Severus is familiar with this particular enchantment, my child,' Dumbledore said kindly. 'Charms are not his speciality.'  
  
McGonagall snorted. 'He was lucky to scrape an OWL in them, when he was here.' Ailie hid a small smile.  
  
'Surely there is a counter-charm, Albus?' McGonagall asked.  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. 'Unfortunately, any coutner-charm will be very hard to find indeed. The genius enchantment has been used so rarely in the past that very little research has been made into its destruction. While I have every faith in Filibus, I am afraid that we must simply wait for Severus and Hermione to make their return.'  
  
'Can't we just smash the jug?' Ailie wondered aloud, and was surprised by the gasp that came from McGonagall at the question.  
  
'Ailie, I realise that you know very little about wizarding encantations,' said Dumbledore, looking serious. 'And therefore I will tell you something that our students are told at a very early age: when a soul is trapped within an object, you must never, ever destroy it. They would be lost forever.'  
  
Ailie looked down at this, chastised. She should have known that answer- her faith firmly believed that the soul and the body were two separate things, and equally as easy to destroy.  
  
A sudden thought occurred to her, and she looked back up.  
  
'Well,' she said in a cheerful tone, 'at least they're going to be forced to talk to each other.'  
  
The two professors looked at each other, eyebrows raised.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Things were not going well at all, Hermione reflected, as she sat, hunched, against the curved wall. A low bench-seat ran the circumference of the room, laid with plush cushions. Still, it was damned awkward to try and hunch into a corner that just wasn't there.  
  
It had been about five hours, and she was beginning to get tired, but she refused to be the first one to sleep. Across the circular room, Snape still paced back and forth, looking for some way out, but Hermione felt it was hopeless. They had spent the first hour each searching for a way out of this predicament, but without the use of wands, what hope could there be?  
  
Aside from being the place of their imprisonment, the room committed the crime of being decked out in pink and purple. The plush furnishings were shades of the two colours, the sloping walls of the room a hideous shade of pink. Gold braid was in abundance. It reminded Hermione of something, but she was too tired to remember. The pinkness of the room was leeching any strength she had left. It was like drowning in a tub of melted lipstick.  
  
Hermione closed her eyes. She could feel herself nodding off, but couldn't be bothered to fight it. Every time she opened her eyes she was confronted with pink. Death was preferable.  
  
She was startled awake by a muffled exclamation, and opened her eyes to see Snape shaking one foot, obviously having just kicked the circular seat in the middle of the room. A giggle rose up from her chest, and she didn't bother to fight it. He deserved the pain. He glared at her, and she laughed harder. She couldn't help it.  
  
It was mostly because of the outfit he was wearing. Somehow, gauzy harem pants and an equally tacky purple vest suited Snape, in an odd way. It was the little round hat that tipped her over the edge. He had long ripped it off and thrown it as far as he could, but the image of him standing there in that outfit would be burned into her mind forever.  
  
Snape gave her a strange look, but she kept on laughing. It was just too much. How on Earth had they ended up here? Why were they dressed in ridiculous clothes? It was insane.  
  
'I'm hallucinating,' she gasped. That had to be the answer. Somehow, she had imbibed some sort of poison, and she was hallucinating. *At least I'll die soon, then,* she thought, giggling.  
  
Suddenly, a pair of hands grasped her arms and shook her. 'Miss Granger!' he snapped, getting her full attention. She stared into worried black eyes for a millisecond before he let go of her and moved away.  
  
Hermione stared ahead of her, dazed. Somehow she had ended up on the carpeted- pink, of course- floor. She might have been hysterical, but this situation was still insane.  
  
The thing was, they couldn't be sure who had done this. Until they figured that out, they had no hope of knowing what awaited them or what particular spell was locking them in. As Snape had pointed out, Hermione thought with a grimace as she rubbed the bruises on her tender arms.  
  
Arriving in the room after touching the jug had been a shock, and Snape had been less than helpful. In fact, he had grabbed her and shaken her until her teeth chattered.  
  
She had to admit, he had cause. It wasn't like Hermione to behave incautiously, but being sucked from Snape's office into a pink, round room and being suddenly dressed in strange clothes had stunned her. Her immediate thought was that somehow, Voldemort's men had placed a portkey in Snape's office, and she had said as much. Only when he shook her into silence did she realise the mistake she had almost made.  
  
'You stupid little girl, *shut up*.' Snape had accompanied this with a tightening of the grip on her arms, causing her to wince in pain. The pain had, somehow calmed her, and had done exactly what he had wanted it to do: if they were indeed in a trap laid by Lord Voldemort, then blurting out Snape's status as a spy was not the wisest thing to do. They could be overheard, overlooked- anything.  
  
Still, she felt the bruises were uncalled for, and had said as much, which had earnt her another sneer. then she had asked,  
  
'Where are we?'  
  
Which had caused the row which had ended with them, as now, on opposite ends of the room.  
  
Hermione didn't think it fair that Snape had accused her of being an infant, and always relying on her 'betters' to get her out of a situation. She also resented that he had, yet again, brought Harry and Ron, and their alleged incompetence, into the conversation. She had, however, managed to get a few barbs of her own in before the two of them had retreated into furious silence.  
  
Weariness settled over her. It seemed all she did these days was fight with Snape, and it took all the energy out of her. There was a ball of misery in her gut, and it didn't help that it increased tenfold whenever she looked across the room.  
  
Of all the people to get locked in a room with.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
'But why are you so worried? They've only been in there a couple of hours!' Ailie said, trying to ignore the ghostly figures on the beds behind her.  
  
McGonagall turned troubled eyes toward her, and shook her head.  
  
'Time works differently in a genius bottle, my dear,' Filibus Flitwick said in a quiet voice, patting her arm. 'It is their minds that are imprisoned in the enchantment, not their bodies.'  
  
'What Filibus means to say is that time will be working for Severus and Hermione in much the same way as it would in a dream,' Dumbledore cut in, with a gentle smile. 'If they have not awoken after three hours, time must be extended for them indeed.'  
  
'You mean that they think they've been in there longer?' Ailie asked.  
  
'That depends on their state of mind,' Flitwick said, glancing at their bodies worriedly. 'The time that passes here is relative. If they were comfortable, time would have passed quite quickly for them, and they would likely have had time enough to figure out the problem and escape by now. If, however, they are uncomfortable...' He sighed, and shook his head sadly.  
  
'And we all know how comfortable they have been with each other lately,' Ailie said sadly. 'They must think they've been in there for days.'  
  
She turned to the prone figures on the twin beds behind her. There, as if in a deep sleep, lay Snape and Hermione. Their expressions were serene. Ailie sighed. She wished she could know what was happening to them, but, for once, Snape was not in her head, his mind trapped in a milk jug. If it wasn't so serious, it would be funny.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape watched Hermione sleep, fascinated. It wasn't often that he had had the opportunity to watch another person sleep, and not often that he had wanted to. He watched the way her back rose and fell, as she cuddled closer on her stomach to the cushions on the bench. He hadn't picked her for someone to sleep on their stomach, for what reason he did not know. Somehow, she seemed too proper to let her body lie reckless in her sleep.  
  
Her face was turned toward him, resting on one curled fist. She didn't seem contented, and that troubled him. It seemed that he was not the only one who could not run away from things in his sleep. Her lips were slightly... well, smushed was the only word that came to his mind, scrunched up from leaning against her hand. He was fascinated by the curves of her eyelashes, feathered against her cheek. She breathed through her nose while she slept, he saw. Amazing.  
  
When she had just been falling asleep, not yet claimed as deeply as she was now, he had seen that she rubbed her feet against the silk of the cushions. It was a rhythmic, calming gesture, which was the point, he supposed. It was such an odd thing to do, though, and he wondered why she did it, or if she even knew she did. Maybe her feet grew tired during the day, and she unconsciously sought to ease the ache in them. He wondered if she did it all the time, or if it was a sign of troubled sleep. He wondered if she was cold, the way she curled up into the cushions, or if it was just the terrifying environment. Or if it was his presence.  
  
He also wondered how the hell they were going to get out of there. He had no way to tell what kind of spell had bound them in this room, without the use of his wand. It was one of the first things he had done upon their entrance, and had found that no spell worked. His wand was just a useless stick as far as the room was concerned.  
  
Sighing, Snape rubbed his eyes. For once, he was actually sleepy. That was a rare occassion, and he was forced to pass it up by staying awake and worrying. Who knew what would happen if both of them fell asleep? Anyone could be observing their behaviour, waiting to catch them unawares. After his initial reaction, which was due to reflexes, really, he wasn't inclined to put this down to the work of his fellow Death Eaters. This trap was too subtle, and seemed to have no purpose.  
  
He didn't even want to contemplate the reason for the costumes. Wizards had a very strange sense of humour, something that surprised the muggle-born children who turned up at Hogwarts. Practical jokes reached epic proportions when the person constructing them had a wand. This was a little too intricate for a practical joke, however. Unless...  
  
Snape closed his eyes, wincing at the thought that had just entered his head. There was no way that this could have been constructed by the Hogwarts staff, or, specifically, by the Four Evil Witches. Snape knew where their thoughts led concerning himself and Hermione- it would take an idiot of Longbottom's magnitude to miss that- but he didn't think this was exactly their style. Besides, there had been no guarantee that the both of them would end up in there. It had been in his office, after all, and to rely on the two of them touching it at all, let alone at the same time, was a very tenuous plan.  
  
The costumes, he had to admit, were exactly their style. They would take perverted pleasure in knowing that they had forced him into this ridiculous garment, and would know- they would have to know, wouldn't they?- that to place Hermione in such a sensuous, clinging garment herself would drive him mad.  
  
It did, but at the same time it provoked his ire. That someone had dared to design such an outfit with Hermione in mind, and put her in a situation where she was forced to wear it in front of a man she so obviously hated, made him furious. Whoever had put them in this situation, be it Death Eaters, Weasleys, the cackling hags he worked with or even- ugh- Sirius Black, had no reason to treat Hermione this way. The girl was frightened, and trapped. She didn't trust him. And they had been stuck here for, oh, at least seven hours now.  
  
Though he knew it was useless, Snape looked around the chamber once more. It was perfectly circular, with no flaw in the wall to allow for any sort of purchase. The seat in the middle of the room was only set one foot off the floor, far too short to even reach the ceiling from with one standing on the other's shoulders. And the ceiling itself... Snape looked up and shuddered. He didn't like to look at it. The walls sloped gently up, continuing until they disappeared as a dark hole. It lurked there, overhead.  
  
Snape drew his eyes back down the grotesque wall, to settle again on Hermione. She sighed in her sleep, and rolled over, settling back against the wall and facing him. Snape really wished she hadn't done that. Now he was forced to endure creamy skin and long, brown hair caressing her shoulders, sliding silkily over her neck and caressing the curve of the top of one breast, encased in some strange sort of harem top resembling a bra. He wondered if it tickled, the end of that lock in her cleavage. He was feeling irritated just watching it.  
  
Snape rolled his eyes in self-derision and sat up straighter. This was not getting them anywhere. Who could have put them in there? Who?  
  
He thought across many options before he fell asleep, varied and improbable, but the real reason never entered his head. 


	26. It's not the usual thing

Disclaimer: Rabbit, rabbit, who's got the chicken. Disclaimers are silly, and so is this 'un.  
  
Chapter Twenty-Six  
  
  
  
It was a surprise to Hermione when she woke up and saw that Snape was asleep. Somehow, she didn't imagine that the man ever slept. He seemed too... controlled for sleep. Maybe she had hoped that he would be too tortured by nightmares.  
  
She shook her head at the thought. In some ways, he was right, she berated herself. Not in every sense, but there were times when 'infant' was an appropriate label for her. What, exactly, did she expect? Did she really, somewhere deep down in her little mind, imagine that the dark potions master spent his nights torturing himself over past deeds, repenting and repenting again, the everlasting hero? That was really how she was the child. She was waiting for his white horse to show up.  
  
She sighed and rubbed her forehead. She wondered if there ever would come a time when she didn't think in fairytales.  
  
Across from her, Snape's eyes snapped open. Startlement transformed into a sneer under her gaze.  
  
'Something interesting, Granger?' he asked. Hermione sat up. If she ever needed a reminder that he was no hero, Snape was sure to provide her with one.  
  
'Absolutely nothing is interesting, Snape,' she said, turning away.  
  
Snape's eyes narrowed at her, but she ignored it. 'Have you thought of a way out of here yet?'  
  
Behind her, Snape shook his head. 'Miss Granger,' he began, derision firmly implanted in his tone, 'if you had not got us into this situation in the first place, I would not be required to find a solution.'  
  
Hermione didn't bother to hide the disdain on her face as she turned back around.  
  
'Enough,' she said, glaring at him. 'Let's get this out of the way, shall we? I am plainly the one responsible for our predicament, or at least as you see it. Now, you, poor put-upon Snape, have to somehow put your undoubtedly immense mind power to get us out of it, because I, despite graduating the top of my class with a mark three points higher than your own- I checked- am completely incompetent compared to your massive intellect. All of this is my fault, just like everything else, despite the fact that I am just a filthy little mudblood wh-'  
  
'Stop now, infant, before you say something you might regret.' Snape folded his arms over his chest. 'As ever, I see that you have failed to check your information before spouting off like the Gryffindor you are. I am so unendurably *tired* of your constant need for care and reassurance!' His fists clenched at his sides as he glared at her. 'Do you honestly expect me to pamper you with empty compliment, like everyone around you has ever done, Hermione? I apologise, but for someone to receive compliment from me, they actually have to earn it. I am not your- your keeper! Neither am I one to tolerate such a needy tendency such as your academic career seems to have been formed in!'  
  
The words cut deeply, as he intended, and Hermione had to restrain herself from hitting back physically. 'Damn you, Snape. You have no idea how my mind works because you've never bothered to bloody well observe it. You- you-'  
  
Snape sneered at her. 'Go on,' he taunted disdainfully.  
  
'You-' Words failing her, Hermione descended into a few choice Gaelic phrases that she had heard Ailie using. They seemed the most appropriate.  
  
Snape laughed at her. 'Still couldn't find the grown-up words, could you? Ever the appropriate little girl. Oh, Minerva, if only you could see your perfect little favourite now.'  
  
Instinctively, Hermione reached for her wand and pointed it at him. She just had time to register the snarl on his face before she launched a curse at him. As soon as she did, however, she was stunned: Snape's limbs clamped together and his mouth clamped shut, just as the curse commanded.  
  
The two looked at each other in surprise for a moment, before Hermione decided to try another spell, just in case that one was a fluke. A cushion behind Snape turned from fuschia pink to blue. Her eyes widened.  
  
'Miss Granger,' Snape said, his voice muffled from having to speak from curse-clenched teeth, 'are you trying to tell me that your wand has worked all along?' Hermione glared at him.  
  
'Did you really think I spent an hour walking around this room without testing to see if my wand could get me out of it? I don't trust you quite that much, Snape,' she sneered. 'It didn't work on the walls, so I assumed it worked as little as yours did.'  
  
Hermione paced back and forth several times, trying to get her head into order. Determinedly, she pushed aside the fury from the recently ended argument, striving for focus. Her wand worked. It may not have the ability to release them from this chamber, but it worked. Quickly, she cast a few measurement spells, attempting to determine the strength of magic used in the room. Her business prevented her from seeing the approving look in Snape's eyes.  
  
It wasn't difficult to determine that, while the room was surrounded by magic, there were no spells operative in the room itself. Hermione sighed in relief. It was unlikely that they were being observed- there simply would have been some sign.  
  
First things first. A few counter-spells showed that there were no invisible doorways or any simple sort of locking spells on the room. With a frown, Hermione tried out every counter-curse she knew that was pertinent to imprisonment. None of them worked. It wasn't less than she expected, but at least she knew for certain that this was no ordinary room.  
  
Needing to think, Hermione quickly transfigured a few of the pillows into quills and parchment, and cleared herself a stable space on the seat in the middle of the room. Notes, she needed to make some notes, sort her thoughts out...  
  
After a few minutes, a cough alerted her to the fact that Snape was still bound by her curse, and looking rather uncomfortable. Looking up, Hermione sighed and released him with a wave of her wand, paying him no further attention as she turned back to her notes.  
  
It was a relief to be lost in the world of words once more, to escape, at least mentally. By the time she had finished, she had noted down all the peculiarities of the room, and anything else she could think of. The stark facts of the situation were easier to comprehend when put in an orderly list like this; the use of the milk jug as some kind of portkey, the room's apparent imperviousness to magic, the fact that Snape's wand was disabled while hers was not. At the end of the list, Hermione jotted down any familiar elements to the situation, any enchantments she knew of that could have caused it.  
  
Another cough and the appearance of two pale feet in front of her alerted her to the fact that Snape, apparently, was bored.  
  
'Yes?' she said, looking up.  
  
'Some parchment and a quill, if you please,' he commanded, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Hermione felt a bitter taste in her mouth as she frowned up at him. 'Sorry to disappoint you, but I think I can handle this by my needy self.'  
  
Snape sighed. 'Miss Granger, as loathe as we both are to admit it, we are in this together. We will have to, unfortunately, work together.'  
  
Hermione closed her eyes for a second in irritation, then quickly transfigured some more parchment and writing implements for him to use. She set them on the floor and returned to her work, ignoring him once more.  
  
The two worked in silence for a while before another discreet cough sounded from Snape's direction, and Hermione looked up once more. She was pleased to note that he looked distinctly uncomfortable.  
  
'I trust that you have performed detector charms,' he said with a slight grimace. 'I would like to look at the results. If- you would be so kind,' he added, the words coming out with all the ease of a rusted hinge opening. Silently, Hermione replicated her notes and handed them over the centre seat. Snape nodded his thanks, settling down to read them while leaning against the seat.  
  
After a while, the scribblings on his notes caught Hermione's eye, and she looked up at him.  
  
'Would you mind if I had a look?' she asked quietly. Snape silently handed the pages over, and Hermione flicked through them with a frown of concentration. As she finished reading them, she began to muse out loud. A thought struck her.  
  
'You said before that we had to work together,' she said, the half- formed thought spoken more to herself than to him. Snape looked up. 'Wasn't Dumbledore saying that to us, just- well, it must be yesterday, now?'  
  
A spark of interest flashed through Snape's eyes. 'I had considered the possibility that some- members of the Hogwarts staff may have put us in this position, yes,' he answered. Something about his tone and the way he looked made Hermione look behind her, to the plush cushions of the seat behind her. They certainly were opulent, for a jail cell. And their costumes- Snape seemed uneasy about them when he had said that- something about their mode of dress, the cushions, the room...  
  
The realisation made her grin to herself. 'Oh no,' she said, without thinking. 'They can't think that I'll have sex with you in this room. It's just too pink.' Horrified, she flashed a look at Snape as a blush worked its steady way up her cheeks. She was disturbed to see a thoughtful look in his eye.  
  
'Too pink?' he asked.  
  
'Yes, well...' Hermione coughed, not liking the way the conversation was going. It was difficult to think about what he really thought of her, as stated in that horrible letter, when they were working together so companionably. 'Pink- it's not really the best colour.'  
  
Snape nodded, and, as if sensing her discomfort, turned back to his notes.  
  
To distract herself, Hermione looked once more around the room. Tea, they needed tea. It was a great way to clear thoughts. Though it was impossible to simply conjure some out of the air- it took a great amount of energy and concentration to create something so complex out of nothing- she could transfigure the ingredients from their surroundings and brew some. Quickly, she got up and busied herself around the room, conjuring a small fire and setting about preparations. After a while, Snape looked up to watch her, his expression distant. Thinking perhaps he was mulling over their problem, Hermione simply set the tea things on the seat they were both using as a desk, pouring out two mugs and placing one in front of him.  
  
He stared at it a moment. 'How domestic.' Almost the instant he said it, however, he looked up and shook his head in apology. 'Sorry. Thank you.'  
  
Nonplussed by the strange situation, Hermione merely nodded and sipped her tea.  
  
Silence again flowed between them, though this time it was not as filled with anger as before. Hermione frowned in concentration as she looked over her notes. There was something here, just out of reach of her mind. The underwire of her bra dug into her side as she shifted position, and unthinkingly, she transfigured it into a more comfortable one. She noticed her arms felt cold, so she changed the strange vest into a comfy sweater, and turned the trousers into something far more suitable; nights of studying in cold rooms without time to spare had got her into the habit of simply transfiguring her clothes to suit, and she did it unthinkingly. After a few minutes, however, she felt Snape's gaze on her, and looked up. He was staring at her, eyes wide.  
  
'How did you do that?' he asked.  
  
'What?' she said, following his eyes down to her clothes. 'Oh, this, Transfiguration. It's a form of magic, remember?'  
  
'Good.' He stood, and indicated his own clothes with a look. Hermione ignored him, and turned back to her work.  
  
'Miss Granger,' Snape said, his voice dangerously low. Smiling, Hermione continued to ignore him, even as he walked around the seat to step closer. The situation was funny, really. Why not enjoy his discomfort? By the time his feet got in her range of peripheral vision, she could almost taste the irritation radiating from him. Finally, she looked up.  
  
Snape glared down at her. 'Miss Granger,' he said, 'de-robe me *now*.'  
  
Hermione looked up at him for a second before bursting into laughter. She was pleasantly surprised to see that a hint of a blush tinged his pale cheeks before he stormed off to the other side of the room.  
  
'Why, Professor Snape, you only had to ask,' she gasped, in between giggles. Oh, if only Harry and Ron could have heard that.  
  
Seeing his real discomfort as she calmed down, Hermione shrugged and threw a transfiguration charm at his back, turning the ludicrous outfit into his usual black robes. It wasn't as though she liked the other outfit, anyway.  
  
Snape turned back around, his face impassive. 'Thank you,' he said.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
At the end of the day, a lot of notes had been made, and they were no closer to finding a solution to their problem. Hermione felt as though she was living in a void. The hours passed by slowly, accompanied with the change of light she was used to in the outside world, but there were no windows for it to possibly show through. How could there be such a change without a source of light? She had mentioned it to Snape, but he had no idea, either.  
  
Another factor was food. It seemed as though they both got tired in the usual way, but never thirsty or hungry. Even drinking the tea had been strange, more of a sensation in her head than in her stomach.  
  
By the time it got dark, habit dictated sleep. The light from Hermione's wand was not enough for the both of them to work by, and besides, there was nothing left for them to work on. Hermione felt that they had all the facts, but there was something essential missing. This was all too familiar.  
  
When she yawned, Snape suggested that they get some sleep. They crept onto their opposite sides of the room, and Hermione turned out the light. She wondered how many hours it would be until dawn arrived, feeling that she would possibly see every one of them.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. You're all wonderful and I love you. Just a few replies- Kiki-0303: Yes, Hermione is offensive. I did it on purpose and never fear, she's going to feel terrible soon enough. (Besides, she's 19. 19-year-olds do say a lot of crap sometimes). Snakecharmer: Thank you for reviewing even when you were tired. I really do appreciate it! HeavenStone: The setting's colours irritated me, too, but they were supposed to. The reason for it all is on its way. SlytherinQueen87: Yes, I thought it was funny picturing Snape stuck in a pink room. I can't imagine a worse torture, myself. Meow, Dawn and Usuu Bishouji: Thank you for reviewing and for all the compliments. I don't deserve them, but I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. 


	27. Snape in the glass

Disclaimer: Snape isn't mine. If he was, I would undoubtedly find something to do to him involving silken cords and a feather that would make him wriggle, but , alas, no. The rest of them aren't mine either, except Ailie.  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-Seven  
  
  
  
A figure with light hair crested the hill and took a deep breath. It was wonderful to breathe the air again. All those months buried deep in their winter home had almost killed him; unlike the rest of his family, he had never been a child of the earth. He was of the air, of the creatures that walked the earth. That was mostly why he had got along so well with Ailie.  
  
*Still* got along with her, he reminded himself. Most of the others had argued against his early departure from the caves, saying that he would get himself killed or lead others to their hiding place. But Under had always been able to move with the wind, hiding when he wanted to.  
  
The first few days had been spent in impatient stalking, with soot in his hair and on his skin, crawling imperceptibly through trees, freezing into them at the slightest sound. Now that he was in the plains, there was more light and less cover. It didn't matter; he was far enough now from the others that it would be impossible to trace their hideout.  
  
He didn't know how, but he knew Ailie was out there somewhere. The others had not felt anything, and had encouraged him to accept the possibility of the worst. They had all felt the immense pain that Ailie's parents had been put through before they had felt their spirits fly free. There was so much pain there, and confusion. While it was remotely possible that Ailie had survived, there had been too much evidence pointing the other way. After all, she was linked to them, and they couldn't feel her.  
  
Under couldn't either, but he could feel something, and that made him never give up hope. When a link was formed between two Wiccans, they experienced almost everything the other felt. Death released the living one from the link, but the experience of death was just as intense as that of life- it left a mark in the mind, as a warm touch leaves a tingle. Under couldn't feel that tingle from Ailie, and he should have- they had been soul-bound since their fourteenth birthdays, as close or closer than two friends could ever possibly be. It felt like Ailie had simply been wiped off the earth.  
  
That is, until he had been able to leave the sanctuary of the caves and get out into the open. He had felt it as he'd passed several small towns earlier, and it was even stronger now. It didn't feel like Ailie, but it was also something he had never felt before. It couldn't be coincidence.  
  
Swift and silent, Under began to make his way down to the plains.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Snape stared at the insides of his eyelids. He had been mentally reciting the ingredients list in the back of Most Potente Potions backwards, but had got to 'Pythoria (minor enscarpment)' before admitting to himself that, while boring, the task was unlikely to send him to sleep. He knew it was not the most tactical plan, for both of them to sleep, but he didn't enjoy the prospect of sitting for hours with nothing better to do than watch Hermione sleep, his only prospect once it began to get lighter.  
  
Except it wasn't working. He couldn't sleep, and he could tell she couldn't, either. Strange, how quickly he had adapted to her signs.  
  
A small sigh from her side of the room made his lip twitch into a smile.  
  
'Academic recitations are not conducive to sleep, I feel,' he said aloud, and was gratified to hear a small snort from her direction.  
  
'You would think the list of the early goblin kings Professor Binns made us memorise in third year would work, seeing as it put most of the class to sleep in the middle of the day,' she said. Snape raised a silent eyebrow in the dark. He hadn't thought of that. 'What were you doing?' Hermione asked.  
  
'Most Potente Potions appendix C,' he said dryly. Hermione's laugh sounded in the silence.  
  
'I keep thinking,' she said, after a moment, 'that there's something about this that I've forgotten...'  
  
'It will do no good to think of that now,' Snape said. 'We will talk about it in the morning.'  
  
'But I really-'  
  
'Go to sleep, Hermione.'  
  
Long after the sounds of her breathing indicated that she was sleeping, Snape stared into the sightless darkness. The situation could be far worse. They had Hermione's wand if they were attacked, and it appeared that whomever had locked them in here was content to leave them alone. The lack of need for food or water was a curious thing, and it bothered him, but at least they weren't uncomfortable. They were in possession of their mental faculties, and in a position to defend themselves, if needed. It was certainly better than most situations he had been in.  
  
But all that would be useless if he spent the night worrying about the situation. Snape decided to take his advice to Hermione to heart. He turned on his side and tried to get some sleep.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Hermione would never remember it, but she had a wonderful dream. It involved a potion, a fairly inconsequential, every day one. She was brewing it in the dungeons, stirring it only out of habit. Gradually, she had felt a warm presence behind her, but in her dream it hadn't seemed at all strange. A hand had slipped around her waist, and a warm breath had placed a whispered growl into her ear in a voice that reminded her always of silk. A mouth- a familiar mouth, somehow- had placed kisses gently down her neck, the hands at her waist turning her around to face the dark man who was her lover and allowing her to finally, finally bring her face up to his.  
  
She was able to kiss him just as much as she wanted, this time.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Some time later Snape sat, cross legged, staring at the dark point he knew would contain Hermione. It was still dark, though he had no way to ascertain exactly how much of the night had passed. There simply wasn't much else to do. Earlier, she had appeared to have some sort of bad dream, and it had woken him from his light doze. The strong impulse he had to somehow comfort her had disturbed him, and he had compromised by letting himself sit and watch over her in the pitch black. If the dream got worse, he would go over and wake her up.  
  
It hadn't, but now he sensed that she had awoken. Like him, staring into the darkness.  
  
'I didn't call you a mudblood whore.' The words, quiet and almost gentle, startled even him.  
  
He heard the rustle of her sitting up. 'What?'  
  
Snape sighed. No good deed goes unpunished. 'Do you want me to repeat it? The letter. Though I cannot assure you that no colleague of mine would ever use those words against one such as yourself, I never have and never would refer to you in those terms.'  
  
'Oh.' The quiet little sound spoke volumes about how much the subject had been playing on her mind, and Snape softened a little.  
  
'I doubt that anyone who ever knew you would use such vulgar phrases to describe you either, Hermione,' he added, flinching inwardly at the gentle tone his voice took.  
  
'Oh,' she said again, her voice a whisper. 'Oh. Thank- thank you.' Snape could almost see her mouth opening and shutting silently as she searched for something to say. 'I didn't really think-'  
  
'Yes you did,' he cut in, his voice still gentle but with a harsh undertone.  
  
There was a pause. 'Yes, I did. It was unfair of me.' Snape was surprised by the repentance in her tone. He heard a small sigh and then, 'I did so without evidence.' There was another pause, before she continued, in a different tone, 'I should have known, really, that you could never accuse me of getting my grades by sleeping around. It would have been damned difficult, considering my highest marks were with Professor Binns, Minerva and yourself.'  
  
Snape smiled at the joke, grimacing at the image of anyone- anything- trying to seduce the ghostly Binns. How characteristic it was of her to try to ease the situation with a joke.  
  
'Typical Gryffindor,' he said.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Ailie stared worriedly at the two bodies on the beds before her. It was three o'clock in the morning, which, according to Albus, was a worrying thing. As far as Ailie could gather, they could have been in there anywhere from a day to three months. It just depended on how much they hated each other.  
  
The fun was well and truly over now. Ailie felt more sorry about this than anything she had ever done before. It was the way everyone looked at her. Like she was a three-year-old child that had just stabbed someone. It was that, more than anything else, that caused this hot prickly feeling in her stomach.  
  
She had never intended this. Now that she was forced to think about it, she didn't know what she had intended. She hadn't even thought about the consequences- it had just been a challenge, something complex enough to take her mind off the fact that she felt so damned alone...  
  
Now, she looked at the two people who had, these last months, prevented her from being truly alone. One had been forced on her, and one she had been blessed with.  
  
Strange, the way that burning sensation in your stomach made you cry.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
The night wore on. Very, very slowly. They both took several turns at trying to sleep before finally both giving up, chatting to each other in the darkness. It wasn't long before a small amount of light began to filter into the room, growing in strength imperceptibly.  
  
Lacking in something to do, the two of them sat and stared at the curved wall, Hermione occasionally making a remark about the hideousness of the shade. Snape was swiftly finding out that she had a strange sense of humour, as she related pranks she had performed on her former roommates in school.  
  
Apparently, her room mates had been just the simpering girls he had always suspected them to be. Snape appreciated the moral strength Hermione must have had to get through seven years without having cursed them, but was surprised by the small ways she had found to take out her frustration. Transfiguring their underwear was one that actually made him chuckle.  
  
It was while they were talking about the transfiguration of clothes that Hermione began to eye him thoughtfully. A sense of unease settled over Snape, although not the usual mortal fear. Knowing something now of what sort of prankster she was, Snape was worried about revenge from the ex- student who was currently the possessor of the only working wand in the room.  
  
Hermione caught his worried look and confirmed his fears by smiling nastily, muttering a spell at him. Snape flinched, not quite trusting their apparent truce. The lack of anything happening to him soon assured him that she wasn't throwing a curse, however, and he relaxed while she finished her incantation. Feeling a difference, he looked down, startled to see that she had changed his clothes from his usual black robes into a simple shirt and trousers. He looked up at her curiously.  
  
She shrugged. 'I always wondered what you would look like in normal clothes.' His questioning glance continued, and she looked away. 'I was bored.' This time, he shrugged.  
  
Unsettled, he began to again pace around the room. He felt as though there was something he was missing. There had to be- every spell had some mark by which it could be identified. He restlessly rolled up his sleeves as he moved the cushions on the seats, checking for any kind of flaw in the room they could use.  
  
A quiet exclamation from Hermione made him look up, to see that she was staring at his side. He raised a questioning eyebrow.  
  
'Your Dark Mark,' she said, her eyes set on his forearm. 'I didn't notice it before, but it's gone.'  
  
Snape looked down incredulously. She was wrong, terribly wrong. It stood out from the pale skin of his arm like a beacon. The moment of hope that had flashed through him fizzled painfully out, and he raised haunted eyes to meet hers.  
  
'Hermione,' he said in a hollow voice. 'That was not a very funny joke.'  
  
He saw her eyes widen. 'I- I wouldn't do that. I'm not joking. Honestly. It's not there.'  
  
Snape looked again at the spot, and flinched. The Mark wasn't just there, it was There. It glowed with an eldritch light, for now and forever, just as the Dark Lord had promised all those years ago. He looked up, to see Hermione moving purposely toward him.  
  
'Show me where you think it is,' she said, nodding toward his arm. He frowned in puzzlement, then looked down to where the Mark throbbed malevolently.  
  
'Are you blind, woman?' he asked, incredulously. She merely fixed him with a glare, and he sighed. 'It's there,' he said, pointing. 'There!'  
  
'Where, exactly?' Hermione asked, emphasising the last word. Grimacing, Snape held out his arm and traced a finger over the outline of the tattoo, fighting back the memory of Voldemort etching the mark under his skin with a fingernail. He started when Hermione grasped his arm and leant in for a close inspection, her nose almost grazing the mark. She looked up at him with confident eyes.  
  
'I can't see it, Severus,' she said. 'To me, this,' she wiggled his arm a little, 'is just an arm. An incredibly pale, bare arm.' She grinned at him, and dropped his arm.  
  
Snape stared at her as she began pacing. Reflexively, he rubbed his arm. Her latent energy almost filled the room, and he was very close to grabbing her and shaking whatever she was thinking about out of her, when she turned on him again.  
  
'There's something here, I know it!' she said, her eyes bright. 'I can't see it, but you can. That's because I never think about it, whereas I suppose you must always do.' She looked a little abashed for a moment, and Snape filed that little statement away in his mind for a later time. She began to pace again, and Snape's eyes followed her, trying to walk down the path of logic she was following. At times she stopped, to look at something in the room, or stare off into space as though uncertain.  
  
Finally, her mind seemed to be made up, and she turned to him once more.  
  
'Describe me,' she said. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she scowled at him. 'Don't muck about, just describe me!'  
  
Snape's eyebrow rose higher, and he began, 'Well, you have an overinflated sense of your own abilities at times, and a distinctly underinflated sense of danger, although I must admit-'  
  
Putting her hands on her hips, Hermione rolled her eyes in frustration. 'Physically.' Snape's eye's widened slightly. This was not a particularly familiar situation.  
  
She noticed his hesitation, and added, 'I am trying to determine what I look like, to you. Features, not things that can change. It really does have some relevance.'  
  
Clinically, he looked her up and down, and said, 'You have brown hair- '  
  
'A more intricate description, please.'  
  
'Curly brown hair. Just below shoulder-length-' Snape walked around her, brow furrowed in concentration, 'though a little longer at the back.'  
  
'What sort of curly?'  
  
Snape sighed imperceptibly, and looked closer. 'Curls. Ringlets, in some areas.'  
  
'Not frizzy?'  
  
'No.'  
  
'Neatly brushed, would you say?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'Ah!' Her voice was bright. She swung around to look at him. 'What about my clothes?'  
  
'A woollen jumper, dark navy. Trousers of a strange soft material, possibly some type of treated cotton, of a lighter blue, and in some style I have no doubt is muggle, as I do not picture you as a designer-'  
  
'Okay, we've established that you see the clothes that I see. I suspected that.' Hermione frowned. 'I think I know what's happening.' She appeared to be waiting for some kind of encouragement, but Snape was unsettled enough to merely stare at her. 'I do not see your Mark because I just don't think about it in the course of a normal conversation with you, even though I know it's there. You see my hair as curly and neat because recently I have been placing a charm on my hair to make it slightly more manageable-' here, she blushed slightly, and Snape raised his eyebrows, '- and because whenever you've seen me I've been dressed- well, I've always had my hair brushed. But the thing is,' she added, seemingly pushing past her momentary embarrassment, 'I haven't brushed my hair this morning. To me, it's a complete mess- probably all knots, seeing as I've hardly had time to cast a charm on it. But we see the same clothes-' She frowned, and bit her lip. 'The clothes I'm wearing come from a piece of magic I've performed since we've been in here. We both knew it was happening, too. Oh dear.' Frowning, Hermione walked around the room. Snape could sense something about her, but wasn't quite sure what, even when she appeared again before him with a triumphant smile on her face.  
  
'What?' he asked in an exasperated tone, plainly knowing that she wouldn't tell him until he gave in and asked.  
  
'You didn't just feel anything, did you?' she asked, and he shook his head. An expression of delight, mixed with something else, lit up her eyes, and he knew, whatever it was, she had it.  
  
'Neither of us notice anything that we haven't noticed,' she said, looking up into his eyes. 'I mean- we don't notice things that we haven't observed in any way. If we haven't seen it, or maybe it's better to say haven't *expected* it-' An apology flickered over her features before Snape saw her hand, palm flattened and directed at his face, come up. It wasn't a hard slap; in fact her hand must have slowed down somewhat because it was more of a caress when it did connect. It still surprised him. Her hand was soft.  
  
She looked shocked when his eyes came back into focus. 'I'm s-sorry. I expected you to stop me.' Her hand hovered next to his face for a few moments, in the air where it had rebounded, before she collected herself.  
  
'You did notice that, though, didn't you?' she asked, putting on her scholarly air of inquisitiveness once more to cover up.  
  
'Yes.'  
  
'See? You didn't really expect it, but you still knew it was coming because the corner of your eye caught the movement. Whereas before...' She coughed, blushing slightly, but continued, 'Well, before you didn't notice anything because you neither expected nor saw it, nor in any way perceived anything.'  
  
Snape's eyebrows raised. 'What did you do?'  
  
'We only notice things we observe, don't you see?' she said, purposely ignoring his question. 'Doesn't that tell you something?'  
  
'What did you do?'  
  
'Don't you see how everything adds up?'  
  
If anything ever had raised his suspicions, it was this. Snape's eyes narrowed, and he bent closer, placing her under his most intimidating glare. 'Miss Granger. What,' he asked, 'did you do?'  
  
He was gratified to see her blush, but she shook her head firmly.  
  
'Snape, just think for a second. Everything inside our minds becomes reality here.' She caught his look, and glanced away for a second. 'Well, everything our minds expect is reality here. I don't think we're actually here at all.'  
  
The idea took a few seconds to sink in.  
  
'Do you really believe that both of our minds would conjure this particularly delightful setting?' he asked, dryly.  
  
Hermione shook her head. 'No, I think that's part of the spell, part of whoever cast it. I knew it was familiar.' She looked around, and then back at Snape. 'It's the set of I Dream of Jeannie. A muggle television show,' she added at Snape's blank look. His face paled, and she contributed, 'It was from the 1960s. The costumes were from it, too. They were all a part of the spell. I doubt she even knew it would do that.' With a determined eye, Hermione stared at him. 'I hate to tell you this, but we're part of a genius spell. And I think Ailie created it.'  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N:Thank you to everyone who has reviewed- I can't describe how wonderful it is to hear your thoughts and questions. Some answers:  
  
SlytherinQueen87: I liked the thought of him saying that, too. Aah.  
  
Pinkey: Thank you for your wonderful compliments- they are good for my ego. Snape will not be saying the 'L' word for a while, sorry (actually, I can't picture any big declarations from a man like that). But there will be fluff coming soon. Oh, and I'm from Australia.  
  
Marston Chicklet: I know, I know. I hate pink too. It will be over soon, I promise.  
  
Morwen: I'm glad you twigged to the I Dream of Jeannie thing- hope the information in this chapter pleased you.  
  
To KET: Thank you for your compliments, and I'm glad you're enjoying the story!  
  
To 'Huh?': I think it was Chaim Potok in My Name is Asher Lev who said that to reserve judgement is to live in eternal hope. Perhaps you should take this to heart- you seem awfully eager to jump to conclusions. For a start, Snape never did call Hermione a mudblood whore, and I am sorry if this was not clear to you in the chapter- it was his 'colleague' Lingua d'Avarro who called her that. Yes, he did begin to call her a mudblood in a former argument, but I would mostly attribute that to an ingrained response; after all, he would probably have made free with the term in his youth, and he is also a particularly nasty person who strikes out for very little reason. You forgot that Hermione has called him a murdering Death Eater bastard; yes, the term does describe him, but mudblood is a similarly unflattering way of describing Hermione. As for whether they can love each other after trading such insults: you would be AMAZED what people who supposedly love each other can call each other at times. I'm not just talking romantic relationships, although it does happen there pretty commonly. A couple of friends of mine called each other more names than I can imagine in every argument they had, and once one of them even tried to burn down their house, yet they still talk to each other. People are strange, especially when it comes to love.  
  
To everyone else: sorry about that. I get anxious when someone leaves a review with a fairly unfounded criticism, because I want them to be able to enjoy the story. Unfortunately, this person failed to leave their real name or email, and so I was unable to try to clear it privately.  
  
Ugh. Long author's note. Any questions or comments, please feel free to contact me! 


	28. Cry Freedom

Disclaimer: In the sense that all knowledge belongs to humanity, these characters are mine. In the sense of being sued within an inch of my life, they ain't. You choose.  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-Eight  
  
  
  
Hermione admired the amount of self-control that Severus Snape obviously had. Instead of screaming out a few choice expletives and punching a wall, his only reaction to the news that Ailie was their possible captor was a twitch in his right eyelid.  
  
'How,' he asked, 'did your reasoning bring you to this conclusion?'  
  
Hermione sighed. 'I had forgotten all about it. I've been trying to expose Ailie to as much muggle and wizard culture as I can, and when we went to London to visit Ron and Ginny, I encouraged her to look at what was on television. There were re-runs- I caught her watching them a few times.' She sighed. 'I should have thought of it sooner, really.'  
  
She let Snape digest this information for a moment, and looked around the room once more. It was amazing how obvious it was, really. While she hadn't really sat down and watched the program since she was a child, she knew for certain that the room was based on it. It had to be- it was just too much of a coincidence, especially with the costumes. She suspected that Ailie didn't even know that she had created a room that way; it was simply that I Dream of Jeannie was strong in her mind when she had been creating the genius spell.  
  
'This explains so much, do you see?' she said, looking back at Snape. He was looking thoughtful. 'Your wand doesn't work in here- well, it's likely that Ailie used it to create the spell in the first place, and the idea that the spell might be confused by it actually being in here isn't so far-fetched. And,' she added, in a hopeful tone, 'there's little likelihood that it could have been done by someone else- at least wizard. I don't know that many wizards who would wish us harm who also watch television. It all fits. Oh, it was clever of Ailie to be able to do it. I remember the creator-'  
  
'What, exactly, do you know about the spell?' Snape asked, and Hermione realised that he must have been loath to ask for the information.  
  
'Uh, not that much, really,' she said, anxious not to ruin their apparent truce by appearing a know-it-all. 'It's really an obscure spell. I came across it when I was doing a little light reading in the library one day-' here, she gave a wry grin, '- which I suppose must be how Ailie found it. It was in one of the history books- Aladdin and His Lamp. I've always known it as a muggle children's story- there's even been films about it. Amazing how the two cultures kept the story, really...' she caught his look, and got back to the topic. 'Well, while the muggle story goes that a street urchin found a lamp containing a genie, who granted him three wishes, the wizard version is about an Arabic wizard who wants to teach his son patience. He created the genius spell to imprison his son in a bottle until the boy could calm down enough to figure out the password for his release. Of course, it didn't have the desired effect, as the boy then took to leaping out at muggles from an enchanted lamp, which is where the muggle story comes from. I got the feeling he was much like the Weasley twins, rolled into one.'  
  
'So you believe we may be released by a password?' Snape asked, after she had finished.  
  
'Of course. I'm fairly certain this is a genius spell, and there is no other known way out of one. All we have to do is figure out what the key is,' Hermione said, although she already had a fair idea of what the password might be. Ailie had been fairly addicted to the Bugs Bunny specials aired on TV when they were in London. Snape, however, caught her thoughtful look, and sighed.  
  
'You know what the password is, don't you.'  
  
Hermione bit her lip. 'Um, yes. I mean, I'm not certain, but I think- well, yes.'  
  
Snape nodded. 'Good. Shall we?' He bent and picked up his wand from a nearby cushion, giving Hermione a confused look when she shook her head.  
  
'No, your wand won't do it. I think if the spell was cast by your wand, it won't recognise your magic in here. Um- if you don't mind, I could- ' Snape cut her off with a wave of his hand. Hermione looked around, wondering how to do this. The hole in the ceiling seemed to gape at her, and with a shrug, she pointed her wand directly upward. 'Now, I'm not absolutely sure this will work,' she cautioned, and Snape nodded his head. A thought passed through Hermione's mind, and she grimaced. If it worked, it would be worth taking the extra precaution, although she knew he wouldn't like it. 'Uh, Professor Snape...' He looked at her, and she bit her lip again. 'I think, well, I'm sure- with other transportations achieved by spell with more than one person, physical contact is, um, necessary...' Grimacing, she held out her hand.  
  
With a sigh, Snape took it. 'Get on with it, Miss Granger.'  
  
Hermione concentrated all her powers on the roof above her. She hoped this worked- but it had to work. She knew Ailie, and she knew Ailie's style.  
  
'Open Sesame!' she shouted.  
  
There was a rush of light.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
The light of dawn was filtering in through the high hospital windows when Ailie was startled awake. She sat up, surprised as a blanket slid off her shoulders. Madam Pomfrey must have put it on her as she dozed.  
  
She looked around the room, and saw the source of her disturbance. Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick were bent over the prone forms of Hermione and Snape, Flitwick doing a few testing charms over them both. As she watched, the little professor shook his head.  
  
'Very well, Filibus, we will call you if there is any change,' Dumbledore said, patting the little wizard consolingly on the back. With a sigh, Flitwick turned away, and the remaining two professors looked up, noticing Ailie's alert presence.  
  
'Nothing works?' Ailie asked, a slight wail in her voice. She didn't know what she would do if they never came back.  
  
Dumbledore sadly shook his head, and McGonagall moved forward to put an arm around Ailie's shoulders.  
  
'I'm sure something will turn up, Ailie,' she said, her voice falsely bright. 'You know we-'  
  
Two identical gasps sounded from the figures on the beds, and Ailie's head came up to see the wide-eyed stares of her two formerly unconscious friends.  
  
They began to speak at the same time.  
  
'I knew it would work!' Hermione said, all smiles. 'Oh- oh Ailie, that was wonderful, I don't know how you managed such a complicated spell-'  
  
'Ailie, you had best have a very, very good explanation for this,' Snape said with a glare. 'Have you any idea-'  
  
'Oh, that was a bit of a rush,' Hermione added, sitting up and looking green. 'I- I don't think I feel very well-'  
  
The two of them stopped speaking and looked at each other, then rose in unison and headed for opposite ends of the room. Hermione managed to reach the store of buckets before her nausea took over, while Snape, with more presence of mind, successfully managed to down an anti-nausea potion from the stores cupboard and stood, grasping the edge of the cabinet for support. After a moment, he stood straighter, and, securing a second vial of the potion and a glass of water, walked past the staring group of his colleagues over to Hermione, who was still bent over a bucket. With surprising gentleness, he pulled her hair out of her way, handed her the items, and allowed her to drink them before moving away with the empty vial.  
  
Ailie looked at McGonagall, who seemed to share her surprise. Dumbledore, she noted, merely watched the proceedings with a thoughtful eye.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
The repercussions of the incident were not as harsh as any of the participants anticipated. As they had only, in reality, been imprisoned for one night, and had had recourse to mental and bodily rest, Hermione and Snape suffered no real effect at all. Snape, contrary to his and others opinions, found that he did not particularly wish for Ailie's head on a plate as penance- whether this was a consequence of his link with Ailie or some understanding of a bright mind in boredom, not even he could tell.  
  
As for punishment, the word was not even mentioned. Dumbledore and McGonagall, having spent the night cautiously watching Ailie's repentance, knew that the dire consequences of the trick had never been expected by the girl. Hermione, understanding Ailie's mind perhaps better than anyone, bore her no ill will and wanted nothing more than the chance to strangle Ron for all his stories of tricks they had pulled in school, which she was sure had influenced her friend. Indeed, the only person wanting or expecting some kind of castigation was the offender.  
  
By the time dinner rolled around- Snape and Hermione had had classes to attend to, and there seemed no reason for them to stay away- and the five met to discuss the matter, the tense atmosphere around the incident had somewhat worn off. Ailie, though repentant in the extreme at five in the morning after a night of worry, was, after a day of reassurance by all concerned and a satisfying nap, not half as worried as she would have expected, and the announcement of Dumbledore's proposal on how to deal with the matter removed all traces of worry entirely.  
  
'I propose,' the headmaster said, spearing a piece of carrot with his fork, 'that Ailie begin her education at Hogwarts.' He twinkled at them all down the small table.  
  
Ailie looked around in surprise, trying to gauge the reactions of the others. The small, pentagonal table that had been set up in Dumbledore's study to accommodate them for dinner made for a cosy meeting. Ailie noticed, however, that it was smaller than it could have been- there was room enough for the headmaster to transfigure to a larger size where, for instance, Hermione and Snape wouldn't be almost constantly bumping elbows. Of course it could, along with the seating arrangement, be accidental.  
  
The reactions to the news were varied, but that was to be expected. Hermione looked at Ailie in delight, Snape looked unsurprised, McGonagall looked happy but concerned, and Dumbledore was all benevolence. Ailie herself was a little too stunned to have any reaction.  
  
'But how will that work?' she asked, brow furrowed. 'Do you expect me to start hanging around with eleven-year olds?'  
  
Dumbledore chuckled. 'Of course not, my child. I have discussed this with Severus and Minerva, and a few of the other staff of course, and they have agreed that last night's little incident is a sign that your wizarding abilities have reached the point where they need to be trained. Most wizard children experience a few accidents in their childhood; it is one of the signs we use to determine which muggle-born children should be invited to attend this school.' He glanced at Hermione, who smiled back, and then returned his attention to Ailie. 'Your experimentation is no different, my dear; you simply have access to a fully-grown intellect which has enabled you to teach yourself, to a certain extent. We had not realised, I'm afraid, that your talent in wizardry had grown so much, otherwise we would have offered you this opportunity much sooner.'  
  
McGonagall coughed. 'You will not, of course, have to sleep in the dormitories or undergo the sorting process. Your learning will take place much in the same fashion as it has done with Severus's tutoring; you will attend some classes, but otherwise will meet with various teachers for tutoring sessions. We feel that you are able to determine your own pace, especially with all the abilities you have already learnt by yourself.'  
  
'Severus will take you tomorrow afternoon to buy you a wand and some other various necessities,' Dumbledore said, finishing off his beef Wellington with delight.  
  
Ailie ducked her head from all the attention, feeling a little nervous about the proposition. It seemed, whether she liked it or not, she was set to become a wizard. Beside her, Hermione smiled at her in delight.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
What Dumbledore thought the sojourn in the milk jug had achieved for two of his staff was only half-right. While it had seemingly settled the matter of their last and most serious argument, the two concerned were neither of them simple people, and knew each other as such. As a consequence, there was much tiptoeing around any idea of a truce in the minds of each, each one doubting their own ability to sustain any sort of friendship with the other, and second-guessing any scenario they could imagine.  
  
It could have gone either way, but their individual natures ended up determining it.  
  
The day after the dinner in Dumbledore's office was a Saturday, and the proposed day for Snape to take Ailie to Diagon Alley. The excursion was to take place in the afternoon, and Ailie was busy consulting with her future teachers as to supply requirements, leaving both Snape and Hermione time free to ponder.  
  
The result was Hermione's trek down to the dungeons, where she found a solemn Snape slashing his way through a few student essays.  
  
He looked up, to see her standing in the doorway, the familiar gesture of her lip caught between her teeth giving away her nervousness.  
  
'Yes?' he prompted.  
  
'I- I wanted to ask you something,' she said. Snape indicated that she take one of the seats in front of his desk, knowing that she would flutter around whatever she wanted to say unless he pulled it out of her.  
  
'Well?' he asked, keeping his tone gentle. It seemed to encourage her, and she took a deep breath.  
  
'I wanted to thank you for your help while we were in the genius spell,' she said, looking up. Something in her eyes told Snape that this wasn't the real topic, but he let her go on. 'I know it must have been hard for you, and I know how much you hate me, but you gave me comfort and I just wanted to thank you for it.' The words came out with a slight rush, as if she was afraid he would cut them off somehow.  
  
Snape sighed. 'I don't hate you, Hermione,' he said.  
  
Startlement showed in her eyes. 'You don't?'  
  
'No.' He shook his head. 'Don't ever tell anyone.'  
  
She smiled at the joke, and bit her lip again. Snape sighed inwardly. This was looking to be a long interlude.  
  
'You had something to ask me, I believe?' he prompted.  
  
'I wanted to ask you to accept my apology,' she answered, still looking down. 'It wasn't fair of me to call you- to refer to your past, and I did it in the heat of the moment.'  
  
Anger flared deep in his chest, but habit pushed the flicker of emotion away. 'I see no need for an apology. It was the truth.'  
  
Hermione looked up at him, her face pale. 'But- but it's not! You've more than made up for what you've done- I mean, you didn't really- you never have- not since-'  
  
Snape let her sputter into silence, each of her claims fading into nothingness, as he knew they would. What cut deepest was her naivete in trying to deny what he was.  
  
Sadness seemed to fill his whole being, and for once he let himself taste the exquisite pleasure of it. 'Hermione, one day you will learn to accept that there are some things that cannot be taken back.'  
  
Her eyes glittered for a moment, before she calmly stood up and left. There seemed nothing more to say. 


	29. Living in fear

Disclaimer: Not mine.  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-Nine  
  
  
  
Ailie had known something had changed between Snape and Hermione, but she was unable to fathom it. When she finally had time to seek Hermione out to see if she would come with them to Diagon Alley, her friend was sitting by a window in her sitting room, staring blankly outside. She seemed as closed- off as Snape's mind currently was, and resisted all of Ailie's attempts to coerce her into the excursion gently but firmly.  
  
'What's going on, Herm?' Ailie finally asked, sick of subtlety. Hermione looked up at her, and there seemed to be a sadness in her eyes that belonged to someone much older.  
  
'I'm fine, Ailie. I'm just tired.' It was the first time in their friendship that Ailie felt she was being out-and-out lied to.  
  
Ailie managed to at least wrangle an admission of needing some things in Diagon Alley from her friend, and conveniently forgot to take the list with her before she met up with Snape.  
  
'Oh, damn,' she said, just as they were about to walk out of the castle. 'Hermione had a list of stuff she wanted me to get. Do you mind if we go fetch it?' Snape gave her a suspicious look, but acquiesced.  
  
Once they were in Hermione's sitting room, and a startled Hermione was looking for the list Ailie had carefully hidden under one of the sofa cushions, Ailie was better able to gauge the situation between her two companions. Though pretending to have no interest, longing was practically oozing out of Snape's pores as he glanced around the rooms. Ailie hadn't missed the not-look Hermione had given him, either; the sort of I'm-not- looking-at-you avoidance that bespoke the person's absolute desire to look as much as they wanted. Whatever their mouths and brains were saying, Hermione and Snape's bodies were laughing at.  
  
She managed to catch a particularly not-soulful (or, as Ailie read it, completely soulful) glance Snape shot at the open door to Hermione's bedroom as the latter retreated to write a new list. His eyes flickered at the enchanted ceiling visible through the doorway, betraying enough of a smattering of surprise and intrigue for Ailie to feel justified in commenting.  
  
'You're never going to get in there, the way you're going,' she said. Snape turned deliberately to glare at her.  
  
'To what, precisely,' he sneered, 'are you referring?'  
  
Ailie grinned. 'Hermione's bedroom.' Snape opened his mouth for a response, but was interrupted by a flustered-looking Hermione re-entering with a new list.  
  
'There you are,' she said, again avoiding looking directly at Snape. 'If you can't find anything on there very easily, don't worry. I can always send them an order.'  
  
Ailie took the list with a smile, directed more at Snape than at her friend.  
  
When they were well on the way to Hogsmeade, she decided the time was ripe to reintroduce the topic.  
  
'You and Hermione seem to be getting along better,' she said casually, whipping the grass beside the path with a stick. The irritation that suddenly radiated from him was her only answer.  
  
'Just a bit of advice; now would probably be the best time to make a move,' she added.  
  
He stopped and turned on her. 'What?'  
  
'Now. Make a move on her.' She grinned. 'You have just been locked in a room together; a rather cosy situation, wouldn't you say?'  
  
The mental irritation she could sense in him flashed into anger so quickly that Ailie flinched. 'You,' he said, his voice cold, 'did it on purpose.' This time it was Ailie's turn to stay silent, confused as he loomed over her. 'You trapped her in there with me,' he added, glaring. 'On. Purpose.'  
  
Slightly terrified, Ailie shook her head. 'No- no. I swear. I only meant it for you.' Snape stood back, and Ailie felt relief wash over her. The particularly cold brand of fury emanating from Snape slowly ebbed. They turned to walk once more.  
  
After a few minutes, the passage of time had wiped away Ailie's fear, and she began again.  
  
'I just meant that after being alone together for a while- completely accidentally, of course,' she added, with a brief nervous glance at the figure walking beside her, '-that you might have got to know each other better, you know, and maybe you could- er,' Ailie was unfamiliar with how these things were done in the wizarding world, but figured one or two things were pretty much universal. 'Ask her out for a walk one night, or go out on a picnic...' A snort from the man beside her made her nod her head in agreement. 'Okay, maybe you're not a picnic kind of guy, but you could-'  
  
'Ailie, leave it.' The command cut through the air. Ailie considered it for a moment, then ignored it.  
  
'Why not?' she asked. 'You like her, she likes you-' Another snort cut her off, and she decided to try a different tactic. Remembering an approach used by some of the other staff she had seen, which seemed to cut through the wizardly reticence on sensitive matters, she said, 'If you will excuse my speaking plainly-'  
  
'What do you call what you usually do?' Snape muttered, stopping once more to glare at her. Thoroughly frustrated, Ailie faced him, hands on hips. This wasn't going as easily as she had imagined.  
  
'Look,' she said. 'It's obvious. You like her, and she obviously likes you- no, don't glare at me like that, I know that you know it. I can see it in your head. Stop all this stupid avoiding each other and just- I don't know, grab her or something! Or at least get her to go to dinner with you. I don't know how you wizards do it, you make it so complicated- I'll never know how you end up in relationships at all, not that I've seen any-'  
  
Snape stood and waited for her to finish her rant, his expression all patronising patience. When she stopped talking and looked at him, he fixed her in his stare.  
  
'No.'  
  
It took her a few seconds to catch up with him as he turned to continue their walk.  
  
'What?' she asked, all confusion. This was definitely not going the way she had thought it would.  
  
'Do you fail to understand? No. Two letters. I'm certain you have an equivalent word in your native language.'  
  
'But you can't just say no. Why? That's just silly!'  
  
Snape sighed, a familiar weariness coming from him. 'Ailie, it is not your concern. Just- leave it.'  
  
They reached Hogsmeade, and Snape turned, grabbing her hands. Before she could utter a word, the world spun frantically around them, lurching for a few sickening minutes before the brick walls and stone facades of a shopping district appeared. As soon as the world stopped spinning around her, Ailie pulled her hands from Snape's grasp and hit him.  
  
'What did you do that for? You could've killed us!' His dry smile irritated her further.  
  
'It's called Apparition. We use it for convenient and quick travel.'  
  
Ailie glared at him, aware that he was enjoying her discomfort immensely. 'You could've warned me.'  
  
The delights of Diagon Alley, with its bright stores and interesting little nooks, were enough to occupy Ailie for the next two hours, and it wasn't until they were purchasing the items on Hermione's list that she remembered that their conversation hadn't properly finished- at least, not to her satisfaction. As most of the items on Hermione's list appeared to be of the more complicated variety, Ailie had simply handed the list to her companion, who had taken it with surprisingly little grumbling, giving Ailie further satisfaction as to the rightness of her cause. They entered a tiny potions stores shop where Snape simply handed the list over, asking for doubles of some of the items.  
  
As they waited for the clerk to fetch the required ingredients, Ailie leant casually against the counter.  
  
'So, what's stopping you from making a move on Hermione?' she asked, smiling at Snape's small groan.  
  
'Ailie, we have discussed this beyond my tolerance. Leave it be.'  
  
'No,' she said with a smile. 'I don't see why you keep on stepping around it. You know that you both want each other; you even get along quite well, when you're not fighting. It's going to happen sooner or later. Why not start the fun now?'  
  
'Ailie...' His voice held a threat.  
  
'No, just explain to me why. Then I'll never bring it up again.'  
  
Snape closed his eyes briefly, obviously summoning up control. 'Ailie, one day, hopefully soon, you will learn that life is not as simple as you believe.'  
  
'Buzzzz, wrong answer,' she grinned. She was surprised by the look he turned on her; not the usual glare or glower, but possibly the simplest look she had ever seen. It had a lot of sadness in it.  
  
'Ailie, it is not always possible for two people to be together, despite all...' he looked away, obviously searching for the words, 'signs or apparent desires that would indicate the contrary.' Unsatisfied with the answer, Ailie raised her eyebrows encouragingly, and he looked at her. 'Circumstances don't always suit.'  
  
'I don't understand-'  
  
'Must I spell it out for you?' he sighed. 'Do you remember, perhaps, the night we first met? Has that slipped your memory?' His voice was harsh, though Ailie sensed it was not directed at herself. She shivered. The night he mentioned could hardly be forgotten. 'One night, on a night like that one, very soon, my life will be forfeit. I will have very little power over what is done to me, and before I die, I have no doubt that everything that I have concealed and anything that was ever important to me will be discovered and destroyed. Do not wish that your friend will be one of those discoveries.' He turned away, back stiff as he stared at a shelf of rare ingredients.  
  
Ailie was silent for a moment, contemplating what he had said. 'But no-one said you had to marry her, I mean you could just-'  
  
'Flirtation or life-long affair, it makes little difference,' he said, his voice expressionless. 'Hermione Granger is already in enough danger. Any further information on her will only make it easier for anyone who wishes her harm.' Ailie glanced sideways, and took in the stiff set of his lips and his shuttered eyes. There seemed little chance he would continue the conversation. All he had said was valid, Ailie had to admit, but, somehow, she felt that there was more going on there, under the surface.  
  
She would simply have to find it out.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
Life at Hogwarts seemed to settle back into its routine, and the occasional addition of a nineteen-year-old student in various classes quickly ceased to make a stir. For Ailie's part, she worked at her studies with determination; if she did it to forget that summer was rapidly approaching with no sign from her coven, no one could blame her.  
  
Hermione and Snape also settled into a routine. Their work together progressed relatively comfortably, and if they seemed to work as though there was some sort of force-field around the other, no one mentioned it.  
  
The potion for the upcoming ball was perfected and tested, and set aside to wait for student ingestion. The potion to dissolve the link between Ailie and Snape was not so easy, and the two made frustratingly little progress. The main problem was that the stronger solutions were too dangerous to be tested, as they could possibly cause all mental faculties to dissolve, not just the particular psychic faculty that allowed Ailie and Snape to share thoughts. The weaker solutions, as might be expected, were too weak to have any affect. It was a problem that seemed insurmountable, and all the more difficult as Ailie and Snape seemed to be getting along quite companionably, removing the potentially inspiring quality of necessity.  
  
Two weeks before the ball, and therefore nearing the end of the school year, something happened to divert the course of their experimentations.  
  
Hermione and Ailie had been enjoying a night alone together, a relatively rare occurence of late, due to Ailie's studies and Hermione's various and numerous commitments. They had enjoyed a leisurely dinner in Ailie's rooms, sitting on a rug and enjoying the slight breeze coming in from the open windows. Ailie had been experimenting with the house elves, and had managed to negotiate a particularly sumptuous Italian meal for them, created from recipe books Ginny had been kind enough to send for her. The remains of the meal left on the rug to be cleaned up later, the two of them were sprawled out on the couch, which Ailie had turned around to face the windows.  
  
'I don't think I ever want to eat again,' Hermione said, her hands folded over her stomach.  
  
'You can't talk- you made me eat that last bit of pizza,' Ailie replied.  
  
'The house-elves would have been disappointed if you'd left it,' Hermione said with a smile. 'I don't think they've ever made pizza before.'  
  
'I'll have to send them a thank-you sock.' Hermione smiled at her friend, sleepy in the after-effects of a good meal.  
  
Suddenly, Ailie crumpled up, bending over and clutching at her sides. Hermione sat up, startled. Almost in slow-motion, her friend slumped off the couch, collapsing on the floor. Instinct took over as Hermione knelt beside her, feeling her forehead and trying to get her to sit up.  
  
'Ailie, was it something in the food?' she asked. 'What's wrong?' Her only answer was a groan. She tried to put her arms around the young Wiccan, trying to lift her back up onto the couch, but the girl kept cringing back from her, pushing her hands away in distress. Ailie cringed back against the couch, curling herself up as tightly as she possibly could, her muscles tensed. She stayed silent and still for a few moments, then let out a piercing scream, slumping to the floor once more. Hermione could only look on as the other girl rigidly pulled herself back up, shaking, but obviously more in control. Her wild eyes darted around the room.  
  
'Ailie, please, tell me what's wrong!' Hermione begged, kneeling beside her. Wild eyes fastened on hers.  
  
'Snape. The Andrews house. Fire. It's- it's- no, no, no!' Ailie curled up again, tears silently spilling from her eyes. 'They- they-' Sobs, primal and painful, wracked her body so hard that Hermione was afraid she would choke. A retching sound came from her chest, and Hermione was just able to reach over and turn Ailie's head to prevent her from throwing up on herself. She had to turn away from the grotesque sight as her friend knelt, supporting herself with her hands, and retched on to the floor.  
  
Quickly, wanting to ease the pain in any way possible, Hermione conjured a bowl and managed to clean up the mess in a very short time. Living with Lavender and Parvarti through their discovery of alcohol had, thankfully, inured her to the smell and sight of bile. Getting rid of the refuse, she put another bowl beside Ailie's shivering body before getting a damp cloth and wiping the unresponsive girl's face. Ailie flinched away from something Hermione could not see, pushing herself even further back against the couch as though she was trying to disappear under it. She moaned again, and began rocking, fastening her eyes shut. Hermione could see her teeth grinding together. Ailie's hands gripped her arms so tightly that her nails were cutting into her skin. Instinctively, Hermione reached for her, tried to stop her hurting herself, but couldn't pry her hands away. When she tried to smooth the hair away from her face, the girl grabbed her hand at the wrist and looked furiously at her.  
  
'LEAVE ME,' she commanded. The fire in her eyes was what made Hermione go.  
  
Hermione smoothed away tears as she ran down the hall. She knew that she should probably go to Dumbledore, but there was no time. Besides, what could he do? Hermione knew that he must have seen this mood many times before, and knew how he would have dealt with it. The best way was to simply leave it alone, until it passed; she knew that was what Dumbledore usually did with Snape. But this time it was Ailie.  
  
Caution had no place as she ran down the steps to the dungeon. The door to Snape's office was closed and there was no answer to her knock, but she entered anyway, her haste directing her through the door set off to the side and into Snape's dark sitting room.  
  
The man himself looked up at her abrupt entrance, startlement quickly giving way to anger.  
  
Before he could open his mouth Hermione said, 'Tell me how I can help.'  
  
His face was puzzled for a moment before he began to pace again. It took him a few moments to say, 'Go away, Miss Granger,' and the lack of force in his command worried Hermione more than anything.  
  
'Please, Severus, I know something's wrong. Ailie's so- she's-' The tears in her throat prevented Hermione from speaking for a moment, but she took a deep breath. 'She said something about the Andrews house. Please tell me.'  
  
'Leave it alone, Miss Granger, you don't want to know.' His voice was of a man broken.  
  
'Ailie's up there crying- I need to know how to help her!' The comment seemed to give him pause for thought, and he looked up at her with haunted black eyes.  
  
'There was a- meeting,' he said, his jaw set. 'The home of the Andrews family was its setting. Is that enough information?'  
  
'Oh, my God,' Hermione said, slumping into one of the chairs by the fire. She stared dumbly for a few moments, remembering the outcome of previous attacks. She knew the name Andrews; Arthur Weasley had talked about his work in the ministry several times. 'Is he- are they all right?' There was always the possibility that they hadn't been home.  
  
'He had three small daughters; do you need me to draw you a picture?' he snarled, turning on her. Swiftly, his fist swept past and hit the wall beside her. Hermione winced at the cracking sound. Snape hissed, but continued his furious pacing, ignoring her as she hurried forward and tried to grab his hand. He ripped it from her grasp, his pacing growing even more frantic. 'His wife was taken, still alive. I suppose they're still having their fun with her; I left before...' With a set jaw, he looked down at his broken hand. Hermione was sickened by the calm on his face as he reached down and squeezed it; another crack sounded. 'They left him alive, of course. It wouldn't be a warning otherwise.'  
  
Hermione felt ill, but knew that she was by far the better off of the two at the moment. The potions master was plainly in shock, and if she did nothing, might hurt himself further.  
  
She stood. 'Sit down,' she commanded.  
  
He glared at her. 'These are not your rooms, Miss Granger. Fuck off.'  
  
'*Sit down,*' she again commanded, placing her hands on his shoulders and trying to push. His good hand whipped up and grasped her arm painfully, but she saw something change in his eyes and the grip loosened. All of the tenseness seemed to drain from him, and he slumped into a chair. Hermione knelt by it, looking at him anxiously as she placed the injured hand on the arm of the chair. He stared into the distance, his face without expression as she used her wand to locate and mend the bones he had broken. It took some time; the fragile bones of his hand hadn't stood up too well against solid stone. Hermione was as careful as she could, but still wasn't certain that the use of his hand wouldn't suffer because of it.  
  
'You'll have to go and see Poppy tomorrow,' she said, her quiet voice breaking the stillness of the room. 'There's still some bruising. You won't be able to use it for a few days.' Quietly, she stood and lit a fire in the grate; the dungeons were chilly, even in the approaching summer.  
  
'Leave it,' his voice came from behind her.  
  
She turned around. 'No. Someone needs to get you through this, and it obviously won't be you. You're in shock.' She stepped forward and laid a hand on his forehead to take his temperature, but had it slapped away. He glared at her.  
  
'Why on earth would you want to comfort me?'  
  
'Because I can't even touch her!' Hermione stood over him, hands on her hips, angry now. 'She doesn't know what happened, just has images of what you've seen and what you feel.'  
  
He looked away. 'I'm sorry to have caused Ailie discomfort.'  
  
Hermione sighed in exasperation. 'Snape,' she said, her voice stern, 'Much as you hate to admit it, this is not your fault. Stop with the self- pity.'  
  
She turned back to the table and conjured up a steaming pot of tea, pouring out a large cup. She handed it to him. 'Here Severus, at least drink this. I know you need something to calm you down, even if you don't.' The cup was dashed from her hand, and Snape glared into the fire. She stared down at him for a few moments, her lips slowly forming a thin line. Resolutely, she made another pot of tea and set it by the fire, along with a sugar-laden cup.  
  
'Drink this when you've decided to stop sulking. I will be in Ailie's rooms if you need anything more. If you start to shake, promise me you'll go see Poppy.' There was no response from the silent figure in the chair, and she turned and left.  
  
Tears were again streaming down her face as she made her way back up to Ailie, but she stubbornly wiped them away. The important thing was that he had calmed down; hopefully, Ailie would be feeling some of the benefit.  
  
Her friend was still on the floor when she returned, and Hermione lit a fire and closed the windows, careful to leave the curtains open so that the moonlight could stream in. Ailie was curled up in a ball when she approached her, and Hermione sat beside her, gradually managing to get her arms around the other girl and positioning her so that she was almost in her lap. Ailie slowly began to relax, untensing enough to cry, and Hermione stroked her back as the girl's sobs sounded in her chest. Her own tears slowly made their way down her cheeks, and dampened Ailie's hair where her face rested on the girl's head. Her arms tightened around her friend.  
  
'Please, Severus,' she whispered to the quiet night air.  
  
Down in the dungeons, the flames of the fire slowly ate up the wood, fading until only glowing coals rested in the grate. The teapot sat where Hermione had placed it, clinking as it gradually cooled. It was almost dawn when a pale hand reached forward and poured the pot's liquid into the cup, stirring three times with the spoon before taking it out and setting it on the hearth. The hand gripped the cup, no fear of finding it too hot, and the man before the dead fire sat back in his cold seat. The tea was cold as he sipped it, but he didn't notice.  
  
  
  
Incredibly long Author's notes (just skip down if you're not interested, there's no more story): I have been absolutely amazed at all the great reviews everyone has been leaving, and want to thank everyone who reviewed. However, I am a little distressed by one review that referred to the first chapter, and ask the person who wrote it to read the following paragraph:  
  
To whomever left the comment about Paganism but refrained from leaving their email so I could have a chance to rebut: I have removed the word 'Pagan' from the first chapter. It is not my wish to distress anyone. However, I have checked what I said, and indeed did so before I wrote it in the first place. The term 'Pagan' is a broad label that people have used to describe the many and varied religions on the British Isles before the conversion to Christianity in the 7th century. Some of these religions performed blood sacrifice. I was referring only to **ancient** paganism, and in no way meant to indicate any link to the various Pagan religions that exist today, or indeed any other religion at all. (That's kind of why I put 'ancient' before 'Pagans'). I will repeat what I first wrote to 'Makota' the other person who commented on the phrase: "the 'blow on the ancient Pagans' was written as part of Snape's thought patterns. He hates everyone, so of course he's going to see the down side of everything." Also, I used the word 'grunt' because blood lust has been seen to induce a state of near-drunkenness in people, a state where the higher operations of the brain no longer take part. I hope you are no longer distressed.  
  
Again, I ask that if you have a major problem with something in this story, please give me a chance to contact you. As you can see, I'm not nasty, I don't swear at people and I do appreciate criticism, but you can have no idea how it feels to have someone level a criticism at you which you feel is either unfounded or derived from a mistaken impression, and not even have the chance to defend yourself.  
  
Now, on to other people. Uberscully: thank you for yet another complimentary review. Yes, it will end, I promise.  
  
Loki: you shouldn't waste your brain reading my crap! Study, study, study! Good luck on the test.  
  
SlytherinQueen87: No fluff in this chapter, but I promise there will be some soon.  
  
Mad, bad and dangerous: Whew! That is the nicest bunch of things I think anyone has ever said about me. I agree with what you say about the tendency to change characters, and it is one of the things that irritates me in most fanfics (but not all- there's a heap of great stuff out there). Hope you're having fun on the road trip, sounds great. To be compared with Terry Pratchett is far, far beyond what I deserve, but thank you.  
  
Tiani: I think we put him in hideous outfits because he's a naughty boy and needs to be punished. I almost didn't do it to him, but it was just too good an opportunity to be missed, and seemed to logically follow (Ailie has a picture of I Dream of Jeannie in her head, so they accidentally have to conform to everything about the show, including costumes).  
  
Jessicat1982: There will be a snog soon, I promise. Probably in the next couple of chapters. I've already written it.  
  
Pinkey: I'm amazed that you go to so much trouble for this story. Thank you.  
  
Beatrice2005 and Oliver's gurl: strange you should mention smutty novels and pursuing a career in writing.  
  
RedStrawberry900: I hope you didn't get into trouble for using the net. Thank you for reading my story.  
  
HeavenStone, abcjvc, Her Lover's Spy (GREAT name, BTW), Meow, Matraiea and Rachael: Thank you for reviewing, and I hope this chapter was to your liking. 


	30. how can i save my little boy from oppenh...

Disclaimer: Having suddenly come into quite a sum, I have bought up the majority of shares in Warner Bros, and have bought out the rights to all book publishings of the Harry Potter series. I have also actually bought Joanne Rowling through a strange little footnote in British law left over from the 1206 marriage act. So, everything you read here is mine. Ha ha ha.  
  
A/N: Sorry it's taken so long for me to update. I was writing other stuff that I needed to get done, but it's done now. I've actually written ahead on this quite a bit, and have written a fairly steamy chapter for the near future (I'm such a tease).  
Chapter Thirty how can i save my little boy from oppenheimer's deadly toy  
None of the three who experienced it ever mentioned the incident after the Death Eaters meeting to the others. Apart from keeping a watchful eye on Snape at breakfast, and making sure Ailie wasn't too seriously affected the next day, Hermione kept her usually talkative mouth shut on the subject, even when Dumbledore turned a sympathetic eye on her.  
  
Ailie seemed to bear very few ill effects from the incident. Snape, severely going against the grain and taking heed of the reason for Hermione's midnight invasion, practised the feeble amount of patience he had with Ailie and withheld whatever thoughts he could on the event.  
  
Though she didn't speak of the incident, Hermione thought on it. She had had the many hours until dawn, arms wrapped around her shivering friend and staring into the darkness, to think on it. So far, she had only ever seen the after-effects of Voldemort's doings, the echoes; the hurt in people's eyes as they talked of the victims, the sudden disappearance of friends or far-off acquaintances, the changes in Harry after he'd had particularly lucid dreams. The previous night, however, she felt she had come closer to the man's evil than ever before. She had seen it in Snape's eyes.  
  
It set of a spark of inspiration in her mind. Scientifically- she refused to put any other label on her feelings- she knew that it was far from beneficial for Snape to constantly experience such trauma. Though Hermione knew he was a strong-minded man, steelily so, constant mental abuses such as Snape had to experience would be as detrimental to his health as physical wounds.  
  
The problem came back to, as it always did, the unavoidability of such trauma. If Snape were to continue as a spy, and Hermione had no doubt he would, he would continue to be put in situations damaging to his mental health. So, Hermione reasoned, they needed to find a way to shield him from it all.  
  
She doubted that Snape would agree to this plan, but after what she had seen, Hermione had unofficially moved the 'protect Snape' task Dumbledore had set them to first priority.  
  
Snape looked up in surprise as she entered the dungeons that evening, just as she had intended. Knowing him as she did, Hermione felt that the best remedy for the events of the previous evening would be to stun Snape out of his mood. His surprise was covered quickly, however, and he took the usual position of staring silently at her in order to gain an explanation.  
  
'I am sorry to interrupt your evening, but I have been inspired,' Hermione said breezily. 'I wanted your opinion.' Snape's eyebrows rose slightly, but he inclined his head in encouragement. Hermione nodded, and stepped further into the room, depositing her books on the edge of his desk and leaning on the desk behind her.  
  
'I think I have come up with a sort of remedy to your... uh, situation,' she began. She saw something deaden in his eyes, but plunged on. 'As you are probably aware, doctors in the muggle world prescribe sedatives on a temporary basis to patients with severe mental trauma. I got to thinking along those lines...' Nervous of his reaction, she began to walk around the room.  
  
'We know that Voldemort would detect a magical potion quite quickly, with his sensitivity to magic,' she continued. Snape's eyebrows rose; Hermione knew that it wasn't common knowledge outside the Ministry of Magic that one of Lord Voldemort's most frustrating skills was an ability to detect even small traces of magic, but really anyone with a logical brain could figure out that a creature of magic would be sensitive to magic. She spared him a glance, but as he didn't yet seem to be reacting negatively, felt able to continue.  
  
'However, it is obvious that you need some sort of protection when you enter the Death Eaters' circle. We can't expect you to keep going in with no assurance of coming back.' A derisive snort sounded from Snape's direction, and Hermione cast a quelling glance at him. 'It's true. I have no idea how you've been able to do it all this time, but it is unnecessary. Our block so far, as far as I can work out, is that Voldemort would detect any protection spell around you and become suspicious, or remove it himself- '  
  
'Such spells are ripped away at the meeting places. Some sort of enchantment,' Snape said flatly.  
  
Hermione nodded. 'Exactly. So we can't use wizardly protection. But we can use muggle.' Snape's eyes narrowed, and Hermione swallowed. She knew he wouldn't like the next part.  
  
'I, uh, as soon as I came to this I saw how we could protect you. It's amazing nobody has thought of it before, actually. We may be able to improve on it with time, and of course a more thorough method may be discovered with time. But for the moment...' She paused, genuinely afraid of his reaction. Resisting the urge to bite at her lip, she continued, 'For the moment the most effective method of protection I can see is a form of sedation. Combined with a mild tranquilliser, such a- potion- could prevent harm, both mental and to some extent physical-'  
  
'Miss Granger,' Snape's voice, filled with cold fury, cut her off, 'are you suggesting that I walk into the serpent's den, drugged?'  
  
Clamping her lips together, Hermione bit back her first response, explaining calmly, 'Not exactly. What I propose is a combination of the elements from several types of sedatives, to give you an amount of distance between yourself and the events happening at the meetings. Almost as though we would be sending your body in, and you just observing through a camera.'  
  
'No.' The one word spoke volumes on his idea on the subject, mainly that it was closed. Hermione gave him a level look.  
  
'I knew you wouldn't like it,' she said, 'but it's the only way.' Snape merely raised an eyebrow, and all the fear, the frustration, of the night before, when all she could do was impotently pat Ailie on the back and tell her everything was okay, came bursting forth.  
  
'Do you really think I like it?' she said, shaking her head. 'Do you honestly believe that I enjoy the thought of sending you out to God knows what, your only protection the fact that you will be numb to it? I hate it!' Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione banged her hand down on the desk in frustration. She sensed Snape start, the brash movement surprising him. 'I hate everything this war has forced us all to do, to give up. But I have to do something. And if it's only that- that instead of agony someone experiences remoteness, or even if it's the mercy of a cyanide pill-' She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut even more tightly and raising her fingers to her face to prod her temples. 'I am already sick of this war, and it hasn't even begun. So don't tell me I can't even try to protect you. You are needed to do your job, and as a skilled member of this society it is my duty to do mine.' Swallowing a few times, Hermione removed her hands from her face and looked sternly at him. 'If you have any problem with this, argue with Dumbledore.'  
  
Snape looked at her mutely for a few moments, his expression unreadable. What's new? Hermione thought. Slowly, the slight hardness in his gaze turned to passivity, and he gave a one-shouldered shrug.  
  
'I cannot take anything that would diminish my ability to judge situations, or would cause me to act abnormally,' was all he said.  
  
Hermione nodded, the tension of the previous moment flowing away with relief. 'Anything less would be rather useless,' she said. 'I believe that with careful testing we can determine the qualities most desired in various forms of sedative and isolate them for what we need.' Snape merely tilted an eyebrow as if questioning her optimism.  
  
With a small sigh, Hermione turned to her books, retrieving the few hastily scribbled ideas she had put down early that morning. Looking at them briefly, she handed them over to him, and began outlining what she knew about muggle drugs. Snape took it in, occasionally making a remark on a herbal remedy that would give similar results. Hermione drew a chair to the side of the desk and began to make notes.  
  
After about twenty minutes, Hermione sensed Snape looking at her. He had been silent for a few minutes. She looked up enquiringly, meeting his thoughtful look.  
  
'Miss Granger, why are you doing this?' For once, his voice was free of derision or malice.  
  
It provoked a similar honesty in reply. Hermione bit her lip in thought, keeping her face turned away from him. 'Severus, if you saw a creature drowning in a puddle, would you scoop down your hand to save it?' She glanced up at him, and saw no reaction. 'Well,' she said, 'I would. And I think you're drowning.' She heard his derisive laugh, and withstood it, knowing that his reactions were derived from pain. She let him laugh at her, then turned briskly.  
  
'I think we can begin with a few common herbal remedies. We can try the harsher chemicals later, but I think it would be preferable to keep it as simple as possible, don't you?' Her tone left no room for argument, but she paused for his response, requiring at least some form of cooperation from him. After a few icy seconds of his eyes boring into hers, he nodded, and Hermione moved to the stores cupboard.  
  
They worked into the night, until a yawn from Hermione prompted Snape to remove her work from her hands.  
  
'You are tired,' he said. 'Sleep, we can work on this another night.'  
  
Hermione smiled. 'You're the one who's been taking mild doses of sedative all night. But you're right, there are classes tomorrow.' With a sigh, she began to pick up the various mixtures they had tried out, heading for the store cupboard to put them out of harm's way. Though quite sleepy herself, she saw out of the corner of her eye that Snape was still wide awake. Wide-eyed would have been more the term, she reconsidered; everything about him bespoke exhaustion driven off by pure will. It was unusual, considering, as she had said, he had been given several doses of mild sedative. A normal person would have been on the floor by now.  
  
Eyes narrowed, Hermione reshelved the ingredients they had used. One old remedy for sleeplessness had always worked for her, but she knew Snape would refuse to try it if suggested. Some duplicity was in order.  
  
'May- may I ask you a rather strange favour?' Hermione asked, looking apprehensively at the looming professor. He inclined his head, and she continued, 'I won't be able to get to sleep, with all the ideas we've come up with tonight. I usually get some hot chocolate from the kitchens, but tonight...' She trailed off, allowing some of the remnant fear from the night before to surface in her expression. She was gratified to see Snape soften a little, or at least as much as he ever did. 'Would- would you mind walking with me to the kitchens?' she asked.  
  
Snape appeared to be considering the suggestion, and Hermione looked meekly away. After a moment, she sensed him shift position.  
  
'I suppose I cannot refuse you, since you are finally following my advice about walking the castle halls at night,' he said in a flat tone, and Hermione smiled at the dry joke. She looked gratefully back at him, and headed for the door.  
  
Once they had reached the kitchens, and Snape made no move to run off, Hermione went about the preparations for hot chocolate. When she set two mugs on the wooden table in the middle of the room, he made no comment. Once the chocolate was hot and frothy, Hermione brought the pan over to the table, pouring out two mugs. She sat, thinking that it was the last thing she had ever thought to be doing in the middle of the night, drinking hot chocolate with the potions master, but she didn't want to give him the opportunity to simply dump the unwanted drink. Spiked with cinnamon and warmly soothing, she felt it was about as good a sleeping potion as he could make himself.  
  
Wordlessly, Snape sat across from her, and wrapped his hands around the warm mug. Hermione sipped at her chocolate, her mind searching of a topic to fill up the silence. She watched as he, in turn, took a sip at his beverage, then another. She turned her attention back to her mug, deciding the silence, perhaps, wasn't so bad after all.  
Their work on the project continued for the rest of the week. Feeling strangely driven, Hermione took the results of their joint work and further them on her own, listing further possibilities for the next session. Within the week, a satisfactory mixture had been found; satisfactory, if not perfect, as it didn't provide the protection against physical pain that Hermione required, but it would do. It was quick-acting while still retaining longevity of effect, and, most importantly, was unlikely to be addictive.  
  
The completion of that part of the project brought another disagreement, however; having been resigned to the idea of providing protection for himself, Snape had assumed that their next move was to design an efficient working poison in the event of his being discovered as a spy, and had made the mistake of mentioning it to Hermione. Her reaction was less than encouraging.  
  
'He doesn't trust me to find another sort of protection for him, I know he doesn't, but how can he just throw his life away like that!' Hermione exclaimed after the conversation, pacing on the rug in Ailie's rooms. A rather amused Ailie looked on.  
  
'He's just being realistic,' she suggested, trying to soothe her friend, but to no effect.  
  
After their disastrous discussion on the subject, Snape judged it best to pursue the idea on his own, without Hermione's knowledge. In the meantime, the two concentrated on the qualities of protection potions, and Hermione polished up the final preparations for the summer solstice feast. Ailie, who as a non-official student did not have to take exams, took to occupying her time sitting with the working pair in the dungeons. One night, sitting doodling on some paper- she had finished her in-depth 'using- a-quill-to-poke-the-specimen-in-the-jar' project a few moments earlier- she looked up and contemplated the picture the three of them must make, each steadily working away in companionable silence.  
  
'Well, this is just too cosy for words,' she muttered. Hermione, sitting closest to her, looked up.  
  
'Pardon?' she asked. Ailie shook her head, smiling wryly as Hermione immediately returned to her work.  
  
She was just about to heave a long suffering sigh when a noise sounded from Snape's desk.  
  
'We don't need no education,' a chipmunk-like voice sang loudly, 'we don't need no self-control...'  
  
Ailie knew which line was coming next, and peeked secretively at the front of the room. Snape was still holding the scroll from which the cacophony issued forth in one hand, and was watching it as though it as some diseased thing. Looking slightly to the side, Ailie saw Hermione staring wide-eyed at the spectacle.  
  
'No dark sarcasms in the classroom...'  
  
Ailie bit back a chuckle. It was that line that had inspired her to pull the stunt in the first place.  
  
'Teacher, leave those kids alone- hey, teacher, leave those ki-'  
  
The song was abruptly cut off as Snape, with an expression of satisfaction, incinerated the scroll. Calmly, he brushed the remaining ashes into a bin at the side of the desk, and, sparing Ailie a brief glare, returned to his marking. Hermione looked at Ailie, feigning disapproval but with a smile in her eyes. Ailie giggled freely, ignoring the disgusted shake of the head Snape gave.  
  
There was a swift knock at the door, causing all three heads to turn. Professor Flitwick stuck his head around the door.  
  
'Sorry to interrupt,' he chirped. 'Professor Dumbledore would like to see all three of you at once.'  
  
Ailie glanced at Hermione, who looked just as puzzled as she felt, and rose. They would find out soon enough.  
  
***  
  
Under was well and truly fed up. First he had been captured by some great beast of a man who had picked him up from the ground as though he was a cat and who had accused him of being an elf of all things- an *elf*- and then he had been deposited in this room to be looked at and poked at by several strange-looking people and interviewed by a sorcerer who disguised himself as an old man. And none of it had yet produced Ailie.  
  
She was here, he was sure of it. He had been watching the place for weeks after he had glimpsed her, and he could virtually smell her presence now. Yet they refused to produce her.  
  
He had followed his senses through many strange towns in his search for her, but his wanderings had finally paid off. It had been near a small town filled with people who resembled those he was captured by- people in unfamiliar dress, who walked around with sticks of wood in their hands and wore dresses. He had a feeling about these people- some sort of connection that he couldn't place, and so he had lurked around the edges of the town.  
  
He had been rewarded amazingly quick, almost stumbling across Ailie as she walked with a strange man dressed in black. At first, a shock of fear had run through Under as he had noted the energies of the man, but he had, upon observing Ailie's natural-seeming behaviour with the man, given direct action a second thought. A moment later, it was too late, as the man had turned to Ailie and grabbed her, then both had disappeared.  
  
Under had waited there for hours in case they returned, but had finally given up. Later, as he scouted the countryside surrounding the town, he had come across a towering castle, and had sensed Ailie there. He had spent the next two weeks trying to penetrate the fortress's maze of spells and protections, and had almost reached his goal when the big hairy man had grabbed him.  
  
The old man across the table smiled at him, and Under was just about to demand that they show him Ailie when the woman herself walked in, accompanied by the dark man and another woman. Ailie's face lit up when she saw him, and Under rose to greet her.  
  
***  
  
Hermione watched as Ailie hugged and kissed the stranger, the two of them puppy-like in their enthusiasm to see each other. Looking at Dumbledore, she raised her eyebrows, unconsciously mimicking the man beside her in her demand for an explanation.  
  
The old wizard waited until Ailie and her friend had calmed down somewhat, then indicated that they all be seated. Ailie moved a chair to sit next to the young stranger, holding his hands in a grip that indicated his departure would take place only with great difficulty.  
  
'Hermione, Severus,' Dumbledore began, 'I would like you to meet Under Neverglen, a Wiccan and member of Ailie's coven.' There was a few more minutes of noise as Hermione leant over to congratulate Ailie on the arrival, and was introduced. 'Mr. Neverglen has been searching for our young friend for the last two months.'  
  
'And the rest of Ailie's coven?' Hermione asked, only slightly worried. If the coven had been discovered, Under Neverglen would show some sign. Under said something in gaelic.  
  
'They're completely fine,' Ailie beamed.  
  
'That's wonderful news,' Hermione said, smiling at her friend. Dumbledore nodded in agreement.  
  
'Yes,' he said, rubbing his hands together. 'And now, I feel, our two young friends here would like to do some catching up.' Ailie nodded vigourously, and the group stood.  
  
'Thank you, Professor Dumbledore,' Under said, his voice strange with its thick accent. 'Ailie and I will inform you as soon as we make our plans.'  
  
Hermione frowned. 'Plans?' she asked.  
  
'Of course,' Under said, following Ailie to the door. 'To go home. We'll be leaving as soon as possible.'  
  
Hermione's smile faded a little as she watched them walk away.  
Thanks:  
  
RedStrawberry900: I'm really sorry to hear about your friend's dad- that really, really sucks. I am honoured that you still checked my story and I'm sorry I haven't updated for so long- I spent the last month or so finishing my crappy romance novel, something I had to do because I need the money, and I needed to get my head out of the seductive world of Snape to make sure my work had its own form. Do not fear- whenever I know I won't be able to update for a long time I tend to put up an explanation, but as this gap just sort of grew I didn't. There is no problem with updating, but as a writer I occasionally need to do other stuff and pull my head out of Snapeland. I promise more chapters soon. Oh, and with your other review- you asked about more classroom action. I agree that scenes where students watch their teachers react to each other are really funny, but the reason I've kept them out is because I feel Snape and Hermione are extremely professional, and just wouldn't do anything interesting in front of students. Sorry.  
  
Richal: I'm tickled that you told your friends about the ear-biting thing. I don't know, it just seemed like a Snape thing to do. Thanks for the review- I enjoyed it.  
  
Tegan: Thanks for such a long review. I'm sorry you started reading and got stuck because I didn't update for so long. I will be updating more frequently now.  
  
Sukima: Thank you for such wonderful compliments! I'm sorry about you getting in trouble for your chores. You could always tell your father about the importance of reading to developing vocabulary.  
  
Uberscully: I don't think I've ever told you this, but I love your name. I'm a huge 'phile and seeing it in my reviews page just gives me a weird little thrill. Just thought I'd tell you.  
  
KET, Matraiea, angel-g2001, colibi, sleepless, pinkey, Sarah, elfie, Marston Chicklet, grasshopper, labrissa, christine jackson, evil butterfli, beatrice2005, Nala, Eirite, Morwen, Her Lover's Spy, Miko-chan, Heavenstone, Sarah T, Angel of the North and everyone else who has reviewed: I am really, really sorry I haven't updated in so long. I really had to do the other stuff, but believe me I am back. I have written quite a bit ahead, and am basically filling in the gaps now. And soon there will be a nice, gooey chapter to reward your patience!  
The title of this chapter is from Sting's 'Russians:' 


	31. Le Musee Rodin

Disclaimer: Mon aeroglisseur e pleinne d'enguilles.  
  
A/N: To answer the many questions in the reviews of the former chapter- the chapter title was from Sting's 'Russians,' a song written in the eighties about the cold war, which I hear was pretty scary, with such excellent lines as 'We share the same biology regardless of ideology,' 'there is no monopoly of common sense on either side of the political fence,' 'there's no such thing as a winnable war' (one that I take particularly to heart) and, of course, 'how can I save my little boy from Oppenheimer's deadly toy,' which refers to the fact that he has no hope of protecting his child should the world go mad and people start lobbing Mr Oppenheimer's invention, the nuclear bomb, at each other. I used the title I did because I've been listening to Sting, and also I felt it had a lot of connection to how Hermione was feeling. If you haven't heard this song it's a damn shame, as it's great, and if you haven't heard of Sting- he's the former lead singer of The Police, whose song 'Don't Stand So Close To Me' people seem fond of using as a plot bunny for SS/HG stories (because it appeals to all us sick little girls who had sick little fantasies about seducing a teacher- which were wrong, WRONG, but we still had them). If you haven't heard of them, either, then I'm sorry, I can't help ya.  
Chapter Thirty-One Les Musee Rodin  
''Mione, you knew this might happen,' Ailie said sympathetically, sitting next to her friend on the couch by the fire. 'It's a good thing! I get to go home!'  
  
'I know,' Hermione said, looking down for a moment. She smiled thinly, and attempted to brighten up. 'I'm happy for you. It's such good news, your coven being okay.'  
  
Ailie sighed inwardly, cursing Under for his usual tactlessness. She had been friends with him for nearly all her life, but it didn't mean he didn't annoy her sometimes.  
  
'Herm, I'm sorry you had to find out about this so quickly,' she said, patting her friend's hand. 'I wanted to break it to you gently. But I have to go- they're the only family I've got.'  
  
'I know,' Hermione repeated, sitting up straighter. 'You should go. They're where you belong, and it's wonderful that you *can* go back. It's just... it's a bit of a shock. I didn't think you'd be leaving so soon.'  
  
Ailie sighed again as she thought of the second less than tactful thing her beloved friend had done, announcing at breakfast that they'd be leaving the next day. Not used to wizarding ways, Under wanted to be rid of them all as soon as possible.  
  
'I'm sorry about that,' Ailie said. 'I tried to talk to Under, but he's pretty determined about it.' She watched as Hermione looked down again, and melted slightly.  
  
'Tell you what,' she said. 'I'll try and talk Under into staying a few more days. Okay?' She was rewarded with a small, sad smile.  
  
**  
  
In the end, it was agreed that Ailie and Under would stay until after the summer solstice ball. After all the preparation to celebrate something so important to the Wiccan, it was a little strange that she would be leaving only a few days beforehand. Also, it seemed an appropriate way to send her off.  
  
The danger for Ailie and Under, however, was not considered to be entirely over. It was possible that if Ailie was suddenly revealed as a member of a mysterious hermit coven from the wilds of Scotland, suspicions would be aroused, putting not only her and her coven in danger, but revealing Snape as a spy. Under's arrival, therefore, was explained away as the visit of a pining boyfriend, and Ailie's imminent departure was mentioned to no-one who didn't already know.  
  
Fortunately the final preparations for the ball kept Hermione busy, and therefore kept her mind off Ailie's leaving. It was easier, somehow, that she didn't have to talk about it, almost as though it wasn't really happening. Ailie spent most of her time, understandably, with Under, re- forming the bond that had existed between them for most of their lives, which meant the goodbyes were put off.  
  
The day of the ball was all too soon upon them. Hermione spent the morning helping the house elves with last-minute preparations and avoiding thinking about how badly the ball was going to go. At four o'clock, however, Ailie walked into the great hall and grabbed Hermione's arm.  
  
'It's time for you to get ready,' she said, ignoring Hermione's shocked look as she began to drag her from the hall.  
  
'Ailie, I can't possibly-' she began, but was interrupted.  
  
'You can, actually,' Madam Hooch called from the doorway, on her way in. She was accompanied by Poppy who was loaded down with lengths of ivy.  
  
'Freya and I will take over from here, Hermione,' Poppy said, dumping the foliage on a table and blowing a stray hair from her face. 'Minerva and Esme will be along as soon as their last classes are over.'  
  
'So you don't have to worry about it,' concluded Hooch, firmly pushing Hermione toward the door. Ailie grinned up at her.  
  
Knowing a defeat when she saw one, Hermione let herself be dragged up to Ailie's rooms, seeing with surprise that an afternoon tea awaited them, spread out daintily on the table by the window. Their preparations for the evening were also set out, dresses neatly laid out on the couch, pressed and starched, and their various other preparations for the evening set out on the coffee table.  
  
Ailie stood and waited by the tea table, looking a little nervous.  
  
'Minerva told me about the tradition of afternoon tea,' she said shyly. 'I wanted to give it a try before I left.'  
  
With a soft smile Hermione sat down. She looked at the delicacies set out for them, and blinked.  
  
'Sugared rose petals,' she said, reaching out to pick one up. 'I remember my grandmother used to make these.'  
  
'Minerva said that it was something her mother used to serve,' Ailie shrugged. 'There's sugared violets, too. And petit four.' She looked at the food anxiously, then up at Hermione. 'Is it all right?'  
  
'Perfect,' Hermione said. After a second's contemplation, she popped the rose petal into her mouth, savouring the delicate sweetness of it. Following her lead, Ailie took one as well.  
  
'Hmm,' she said, chewing with a look of contemplation. 'It's... interesting.' She caught Hermione's eye, and grimaced. 'The sugar smothers it.'  
  
Hermione chuckled, enjoying Ailie's honesty, and reached over to pour out the tea.  
  
They spent a quiet hour sipping and supping, and talking gently of nothing much. Hermione suspected that Ailie was giving her her last piece of wizardness, summing up all she had been in the time she had been with them so that she could move on. Though she was quiet, there was an energy in her that Hermione had never seen before.  
  
As the last of the tea disappeared, Ailie's expression became serious.  
  
'I am sorry to be leaving you, Hermione. You have been a very good friend to me.'  
  
Hermione blinked back the sudden wetness in her eyes. The words seemed to sweep away a wall in her mind, all the grief for her friend's departure coming suddenly rushing forth.  
  
'You have been a good friend to me, too,' she answered after a moment, giving the other girl a sad smile. Ailie's expression didn't alter.  
  
'I shan't be able to come back, you know,' she said, looking down. Hermione bit her lip. It was strange, she reflected, how the childhood hope for a happy ending never really went away, regardless of logic or reason. Now that Ailie had said it, her disappearance was irrefutable, real.  
  
She looked down at her cup, realising somehow that her friend was asking her to make it okay.  
  
'You belong with your people,' she said, and felt Ailie relax slightly.  
  
The tension of the previous moment gone, Ailie leant over and hugged her tightly.  
  
'Come on,' she said, pulling away. 'If I don't have you ready by eight the girls will have my head.'  
  
The next two hours were spent in furious primping, preening and adjusting. Ailie had obviously been spending some time in the study of beauty spells, flicking her wand here and there to alter Hermione's hair, or fit her dress more elegantly. By the time it was over, Hermione felt somewhat like a live doll.  
  
Ailie stepped back to admire her work.  
  
'Beautiful,' she said with a broad smile. 'Even if I do say so myself.'  
  
Ailie turned Hermione around to look in the mirror, and Hermione contemplated herself. For once, she wasn't ashamed to agree with the compliment. The teachers had decided to fully participate in this ball, not acting solely as chaperones as they usually would. Hermione had at first been trepidatious of wearing a ball gown, but the two young girls had gone with professors Sprout and McGonagall the previous weekend to choose something to wear, and Minerva had assured Hermione that her choice was appropriate.  
  
She was certainly looking better than her everyday self, she decided, with her hair sleek, in big brown curls that trailed from a loose bun at the top of her head. Her brown eyes looked even darker than normal with the light amount of eye shadow Ailie had applied, her lips a healthy red tint without being smothered in lipstick. Her dress was a light blue, an unusual choice for her, but one that set off her creamy white skin admirably, the strapless gown closing gracefully on her waist and flowing gently into a full skirt at her ankles. A single, hair-thin wire of silver held a tiny diamond at her neck, which caught and flared the colours of the rainbow in the light. The ensemble was attractive, while still affirming her place as an adult and a teacher, should any students decide to question her authority.  
  
With a smile, Hermione picked up her soft wrap and settled it over her shoulders while Ailie made her final preparations. Her friend had taken the unusual route of selecting a pantsuit for the occasion, in forest green silk. The way it fitted her made her look like even more like an elf than usual, and set off the impish look in her eyes.  
  
Soon the two were ready. Though many wizardly conventions had been kept up for the ball on the most part, it was necessary to have some physical bond with the earth to achieve the purpose of the evening, and so everyone was required to go barefoot. The connection with the stones of the castle would highlight the natural movements of the earth.  
  
Hermione was uncertain about why they were leaving so early, as dinner would not be served until nine, but as Ailie led her to the staff lounge she found that several teachers had decided to meet for pre-prandial drinks. Professor Flitwick handed her a small glass of wine as she walked in, and with the knowledge that the ball could now virtually run itself, Hermione settled in to enjoy the evening.  
  
Across the room, several female professors watched her ensuing conversation with Filibus Flitwick with interest.  
  
'It's good to see her finally relaxing,' Hooch said, a tinge of concern in her voice.  
  
'She does look beautiful tonight,' Poppy sighed next to her. 'I remember when I was that young...'  
  
'I don't,' McGonagall said. 'It's almost sixty years ago for me.'  
  
'Don't act all senile, Minerva,' Professor Sprout said with a leer. 'You just can't remember what you did because of all the mead that was involved.'  
  
'You were no angel yourself, Esmerelda Sprout,' McGonagall retorted. 'I remember some of the things you got up to. Riding naked through Oxford at three in the morning, tattooing the words 'I love Haggis' on Argus Filch's dog-'  
  
'And generally raising Cain, I know,' Sprout replied. 'That's what I get for having you as a cousin. Is there anything you don't remember?'  
  
'I think she forgot the fact that she has a tattoo of a newt on her thigh,' Hooch chuckled. The other three were silent for a moment.  
  
'How did you-' McGonagall began.  
  
'I have my ways,' Hooch drawled. She raised an eyebrow at McGonagall. 'I had a rather interesting conversation with Antonius Black one afternoon.'  
  
Poppy gaped at McGonagall. 'You- with Sirius Black's uncle?'  
  
'So, does it run in the family?' Sprout asked shrewdly.  
  
'I don't know what you're talking about,' Minerva said, putting her nose in the air. 'Besides, that was thirty years ago!'  
  
'Twenty,' Hooch countered. McGonagall pressed her lips together and gave Hooch a glare.  
  
'I wonder if Hermione has any tattoos?' Sprout asked. Poppy gave her a strange look, and she shrugged. 'Well, so many people have them. I've got one, Freya's got one, I've seen one on Ailie's ankle-'  
  
'Harry Potter's got one,' Hooch interrupted. 'Weasley twins gave it to him his sixth year, when they came down for the quiddich final and he inhaled the snitch again in the first three seconds. Three centimetre snitch, on his left buttock.'  
  
The other three gaped at her.  
  
Sprout's eyes narrowed. 'Freya, how did you-'  
  
Hooch's eyes widened and she held up her hands in supplication. 'I was at the party-'  
  
'I think someone has a tattoo fetish,' Poppy said, looking slyly at the sports teacher.  
  
'There is nothing wrong with a healthy interest in epidermal embellishment,' Hooch said, holding her head high.  
  
'Certainly,' McGonagall said, glancing away to hide her grin.  
  
On the other side of the room, the headmaster moved to join in the conversation with Hermione and Flitwick.  
  
'I was just discussing the potential for preservative charms on delicate potions with our young colleague here,' Flitwick said. 'I really do think she's been spending too much time in the dungeons with Severus,' he added with a twinkle to Dumbledore. 'She's using the same argument he usually does.'  
  
'Although hopefully more politely,' Hermione answered with a small smile. 'But it is true, I'm afraid the magical flux in the charm zone would damage the unstable elements of a sensitive potion.'  
  
Flitwick sighed good-naturedly, and spread his hands. 'I believe we will have to agree to disagree, for the moment.' Hermione inclined her head in agreement, and Dumbledore smiled at his two staff. Near the door, a house elf coughed politely for attention and announced that students were entering the hall for dinner. Hermione excused herself and followed the house elf from the room.  
  
'Our young Miss Granger certainly seems to have settled in at last,' Flitwick said to his headmaster. 'It is so nice to see her in her element.'  
  
'Yes, old friend,' Dumbledore replied.  
  
***  
  
The dinner prepared for the evening had been designed to enhance the children's connection with the solstice. Bread, baked with untreated flour, strawberries, potato pancakes, and various other foods were arranged to improve the tactile sensation of eating the bounties of the earth. Hermione walked past the tables on her way to her seat, observing the various fashions the children had donned for the occasion, and was surprised not to hear too many complaints about the food. After the delights of the Hallowe'en feast every year, she had expected a less than enthusiastic reception of such simple fare, but the students appeared to be eating happily. Perhaps the novelty of a small amount of wine, spiked with the connection potion, given to every student was enough to amuse them.  
  
Hermione reached the table and took her seat next to Ailie, who, in her role as 'cousin reunited with boyfriend' was sitting close to Under and whispering in his ear. Hermione observed the mischievous glance Ailie sent her way as she sat down, and smiled. Next to her, Madam Hooch greeted her cheerily, remarking on her dress and commenting on the success of the feast.  
  
Not at all hungry, Hermione took only a few strawberries from their punnet as the food was handed around. Madam Hooch soon became involved in a conversation with her other dinner partner and Hermione was free to look around, suiting her mood perfectly. She looked up at the hall's roof, showing the perfect sky that had yet to darken. She hadn't yet tasted her wine, and so hadn't been affected by the potion it contained, but she could see the effect of it slowly taking place around the hall. The students who had rushed their wine were easily recognisable by their silent faces; many had their hands spread on the wooden tables in front of them, their expressions willed with awe. Hermione smiled, pleased with her work. The thought drew her gaze to Severus, who also sat quietly observing the goings on in the hall. His expression was characteristically unreadable, his hands folded on the table in front of him as his gaze swept the hall. As Hermione watched, his gaze swept to her, and she inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment before he looked away.  
  
She was frankly surprised that he hadn't managed to find an excuse to get out of the event, though he probably would take his usual relish in patrolling the grounds, she supposed. She remembered Ron's fury after he was caught by Snape with Sarah Henderson, approximately thirty seconds away from Ron's breaching that Ravenclaw maiden's defences, or so Ron claimed. Personally, she doubted it- the boys of the school seemed to have the impression that a girl, once taken to the slightly smelly, damp patch of grass at the edge of the lake, and enticed to strain their neck looking up at the stars for half an hour, would suddenly develop an undeniable urge to rip their clothes off and have rampant sex on the cold hard ground, in almost full view of the castle.  
  
The thought made her smile, and she looked up to see that Snape was looking at her again. His gaze passed over her, and, deciding it was time to join the party, Hermione lifted her wine to her lips.  
  
The meal moved on at an easy pace, the chatter that usually filled the great hall gradually toning down to a hushed murmur. As the light in the sky slowly faded into darkness, more and more students and staff began to look upwards, planting their bare feet firmly on the ground. Hermione began to feel a pulse around her, as though the stones of the castle were breathing with her, and she wriggled her feet along the ground to feel it. She stroked the table in front of her, feeling the old life force of the tree it used to be, still resting in the wood. Her eye caught sight of Ailie watching her doings intently, a broad grin on her face. Obviously, the Wiccan was enjoying the fact that everybody was in her world, for once.  
  
The moon was nearing its zenith when Dumbledore stood, indicating that everyone follow his example. Everyone did, in a silence that was eerie in the great hall. Dumbledore reached his arm out and clicked his fingers, and the furnishings of the hall disappeared. He preceded the rest of the staff from their platform down to the main part of the hall, where he motioned for the students and staff to make a circle.  
  
Having prepared for the ball, Hermione knew that the moon's zenith was the most powerful part of the evening, and knew what incantations they would perform. The power of the feeling she had as she stood between Ailie and Freya Hooch, however, still startled her. Looking around, she had another surprise; not only had Filch joined them, but the house elves were making their way into the room, joining the circle here and there. Dobby stepped in between Ailie and herself, and Hermione felt a surge of pride that the little house elf had chosen to participate in this next to her. Dobby looked up at her and smiled, nodding in greeting.  
  
Dumbledore looked around once everyone had stopped moving, then produced a chalice which Hermione knew would be filled with water. Turning to Minerva McGonagall, who was standing by his side, Dumbledore closed both of their hands over the cup, murmuring the beginning of the incantation. The spell had to be begun by the heads of the coven, usually two sisters, a mother and daughter, or lifepartners; Dumbledore and McGonagall were an obvious choice for this function, being the metaphorical parents of the students in their care. Dumbledore spoke the first words, and McGonagall spoke after him, their two voices weaving an incantation that was almost visible around the cup. After the spell was complete, Dumbledore would take the chalice to the youngest member of the school as a sign of the strength of their coven, valuing old and new members alike.  
  
The spell became much more interesting once the first parts were complete. The purpose of the incantation was to link the coven more strongly together, as well as linking them more strongly with the earth. The chalice would pull whoever held it to the person they had a weak connection to, both members getting down on their knees facing each other as the original holder of the chalice drank, then passed it on to the other to drink.  
  
Of course, a lot of people failed to connect with numerous members of the school; almost the entirety of the Slytherin and Gryffindor houses would have to toast to every member of the other house if the idea was to connect to every individual you didn't gel with. But the purpose of the ceremony wasn't wrapped up in personality; the chalice would simply lead the person to one of the people they didn't completely connect with, meaning that everyone in the circle would hold it only once. The quirk of the spell would simply prevent soulmates wasting the unity of the solstice by connecting superfluously.  
  
A little Ravenclaw happened to be the youngest member of the school, and Hermione watched as the headmaster knelt in front of the child and as they both drank. The headmaster walked back to his place in the circle, and the young Ravenclaw tremblingly followed the cup across the circle to where a towering Slytherin stood, kneeling before him only slightly less reluctantly than the Slytherin himself kneeled. The two drank, and the cup moved on.  
  
Various other unsurprising pairings took place. Hermione was amused to see that Freya Hooch looked very grim as the cup led her across the circle to a seventh-year Hufflepuff that Hermione knew was worse than even herself at sport. The cup also got a surprising way through the group before it finally led someone to Snape; when it did, it was a third-year Slytherin who was led across. Hermione sensed Hooch raise her eyebrows beside her, but was quickly intrigued as Snape drank from the cup, stood, drank from the cup again, and simply passed it to Professor Flitwick on his right. She risked a small glance at Dumbledore, whose expression was momentarily sad before he returned his attention to the ceremony. The others watched as Flitwick knelt before a particularly bulky Slytherin sixth-year, who Hermione knew was on their quiddich team, but Hermione looked back at Snape. He was no longer watching the ritual; his eyes were trained on the ground below him, his hands loosely crossed in front of him. Looking at him, Hermione felt a wave of sadness that only dispelled slightly when she observed Lionel Highbury, the young teacher of Practical Magic, approaching her with the cup.  
  
Hermione drank, not really surprised that Highbury didn't connect with her. She was again startled by the unexpected rush of feelings as her hands closed around the cup; feeling the life energy of her colleague imprinted on the warm silver, she had a sudden flash of understanding for him, and for the ceremony. Obviously, the sharing of drink wasn't just symbolic.  
  
She waited as the cup began to tug at her, and was even more surprised when it led her to her left, to Ailie. Her friend's eyes were filled with understanding as they knelt, and as Hermione sipped, the sudden rush of earth energy gave her a better insight of what the Wiccan was about, something she hadn't realised she was missing.  
  
The chalice made its way from person to person, never emptying. It was eventually passed back to Dumbledore by a moody-looking fifth year Ravenclaw boy, and the Headmaster waited for the boy to return to his place before walking to the middle of the circle. He extended his arm and slowly poured the remaining water out of the cup, a small stream of it falling to the ground with a splash and being absorbed into the stone of the floor. As it disappeared, first Minerva, then the staff, then everyone in the hall walked forward, reaching out to touch the back of whomever was in front of them. Hermione followed the tug, closing her eyes briefly as she walked forward to enjoy the feel of the stones beneath her feet. As her hand brushed some cloth, she opened her eyes to see her hand resting on the dark black material of Snape's dress robe two people in front of her. Knowing he could never know who was touching him anyway, she allowed herself to experience it, to participate in the unconscious flow of energies the crowd was celebrating.  
  
Eventually, everyone dropped to their knees, letting their arms fall as they sat on the ground. Hermione slowly blinked, then looked around, feeling as though she was just waking up. The entire school sat on the floor around her, strangely together though spread out. It was as if everyone had been able to achieve their own personal space while still connecting with the group, no hurried need for some cliched group hug or uncomfortable social invasion.  
  
She took in a deep breath. Dobby, sitting near her, smiled, standing up and brushing himself off. Behind him, Ailie and Under were on their feet already, hugging each other. Everyone else began to get to their feet, and Hermione stood, smiling affectionately at Dobby and squeezing his outstretched hand before he moved away. Around her, people were quietly greeting each other, occasionally giving one another a hug or a touch. Freya Hooch, quite near her, reached out and touched Hermione's hand with a smile before hugging Flitwick and Poppy. Hermione looked around the crowd, looking for a dark head, sensing there was something important she needed to do. Receiving hugs and touches, she moved forward until she found Snape, trapped in the crowd of people and looking slightly uncomfortable. Swiftly, she reached out and touched his hand, drawing his startled look to her. Following her instinct before she could think herself out of it, Hermione stepped forward and gave him a tight hug, feeling his arms close briefly around her before she stood back. She moved on before he could react.  
  
Maybe, she thought, as she made her way out of the crowd, she wasn't the only person who wanted to hug Severus Snape tonight. But she had been the only one he had let do it.  
  
***  
  
Ten minutes later, Hermione watched as several of the more bold students led the way on the dance floor. The official part of the ball was over, the fellowship their ritual had created slowly fading as the moon began to wane, but it had sufficed to bring some unusual pairings on the dance floor as students finally breached the house boundaries.  
  
Soft music, provided by the ghosts who had thoughtfully organised a phantom orchestra, floated on the air as the more timid students crowded around the tables to snack. Hermione watched the various other teachers patrol the room; their party would not really begin for another hour, after the younger students were sent to bed and it would be safe to throw off some of their teacherly solemnity.  
  
Watching the students as they participated in a game that was so familiar to her, yet one she was no longer a part of, Hermione pondered the worth of growing up. In most ways, she had hated being stuck as a teenager, forever removed from actually being a friend of most of the people she admired because of her age- or lack thereof. Growing older had given her a better perspective on that, giving her an understanding of the boundaries of social interaction, and, most importantly, the surprising lack of them. These students would grow and see that the things they worried about now simply disappeared- or gained a menacing overtone that they could not prevent.  
  
Two students exiting via the balcony doors reminded Hermione that she was a teacher, and she followed after them. They seemed to behave themselves, and so she made her way down to the garden, finding one or two couples to caution along the way- one unfortunate outcome of the ceremony they had performed was that many teenagers were not capable of discerning between the unity produced in the ritual and affection, and used the moonlight to explore their new feelings. Hermione even came across one or two couples paired up by the ritual, obviously mistaking it for a love spell. She met a few teachers along the way- most of the staff had realised the outcome of the ritual also.  
  
She had wandered into a slightly more open part of the gardens when she almost stumbled across a more adult couple. Hermione had seen Ailie and Under sneak outside ten minutes or so before, but she was still startled to see them out here together. Their heads were close together, hands joined as they stood in the moonlight.  
  
Hermione tilted her head to the side in amusement; somehow, she hadn't pictured Ailie and Under in a romantic way. She was just about to chuckle over Ailie's hidden romantic side when Ailie pulled Under's hand up and sliced it open with a dagger in her hand. Hermione gasped, as Under took the dagger and repeated the act on Ailie, joining their bleeding palms together in the air, leaning his forehead against hers as they both appeared to mutter something.  
  
A feeling lit the air, so intimate that Hermione had to look away from them. Her eyes lit on a dark figure making his way toward the pair to her right, and, sensing that this was not a ritual that should be disturbed, Hermione quietly moved around so that she could sneak up behind Snape. She reached out and touched his hand before he could round a tree, startling both him and her when he jumped in reaction. He spun to face her, and Hermione could appreciate his skill when his defensive pose, preparation for an attack, changed smoothly to his usual impenetrable calm upon seeing her.  
  
He raised an eyebrow in irritated enquiry, and Hermione silently moved him so he could see who the pair in the clearing really were. His eyes lit on the two Wiccans, their hands still raised in the moonlight, a soft glow between them as they muttered some sort of incantation. Nodding silently, he moved away, and Hermione followed him to the main path.  
  
'Much luck student-baiting?' she asked, earning only a sarcastic glance in reply. Mentally, she shrugged it off, and sought for another topic. 'That new potion we tried on you and Ailie might be working if you didn't sense her,' she said, feeling the shift of gravel as they walked down the path together. Unconsciously, she copied his own pose, clasping her hands behind her back as she walked.  
  
'Perhaps,' he answered. His tone wasn't exactly encouraging to conversation, but it didn't contain his usual 'leave-me-alone' bite, so Hermione ventured another comment.  
  
'The potion worked quite well tonight, I thought,' she said. 'I didn't expect the effects to be so... strong.'  
  
'Indeed,' he said. Hermione looked down, struck by the strangeness of seeing his bare feet keeping pace beside hers. He had nice feet, she thought; quite thin, with long, well-defined toes. She shook her head, wondering why she had noticed that.  
  
'Dumbledore may expect us to have the cure for the common cold soon, I am certain,' Snape added, causing Hermione to look up in surprise. That almost sounded like a joke, but his face was perfectly still. She shook her head, feeling she must be mistaken.  
  
'Well, I would prefer to find a better defence potion for you,' she answered, frowning in contemplation. 'You know, I think if we just altered- '  
  
'Hermione!' A call came down the path ahead of them, and Freya Hooch and Poppy Pomfrey emerged into a patch of light. 'We were wondering where you'd got to.'  
  
'Yes, we were just- Oh, hello, Severus.' Poppy looked at Hermione's walking partner, then back to Hermione, a trace of a smile in her eye that Hermione prayed Snape didn't catch.  
  
'I will leave you ladies to your business,' Snape said abruptly, leaving them with a short bow. The three of them watched as he walked back into the darkness.  
  
'You know,' said Hooch with a slight sigh, 'I know Severus is a complete prat, but occasionally he just does something chivalrous and olde- worlde on you.' She turned to look at Hermione. 'When you have him, can I borrow him once in a while?'  
  
Hermione blushed into the darkness.  
  
'Now, that's enough, Freya,' Poppy said, laying a hand on Hermione's arm and guiding her back toward the castle. 'Remember what happened last time we were teasing Hermione about Severus.'  
  
'Yes, he pretended he had slept with her, if I recall,' Hooch muttered as they made their way along the path. 'Wishful thinking, I'd say.' Next to her, Hermione saw Poppy smile quietly.  
  
They entered the hall to find that the younger students had left, leaving only sixth and seventh years- or at least those who hadn't been tired out- and teachers behind. The absence of the young students had allowed the teachers to let their hair down a little, and many were on the dance floor.  
  
'Minerva's at it again,' Professor Sprout said, as they neared the near-empty teacher's table. She indicated the dance floor with a nod, and the other three looked to see McGonagall dancing with Hagrid.  
  
'You're mean-spirited, Esmerelda,' Hermione said, taking a seat with the others. 'Minerva's just having a pleasant dance with him.'  
  
'Bollocks- she's trying to cop a feel,' Hooch said, making Hermione laugh. She felt a tap at her shoulder, and looked up to see little Professor Flitwick holding out his hand to her.  
  
'May I have this dance?' he asked, with a shy smile.  
  
'Of course,' Hermione answered, smiling also. She had a soft spot for the friendly charms professor.  
  
They entered the dance floor and Hermione was just finding out the difficulties of dancing with a man who was three feet shorter than her when Hagrid tapped Flitwick's shoulder.  
  
''M cuttin' in, professor,' Hagrid said, grinning cheekily. Flitwick gracefully bowed out, and Hagrid grabbed Hermione's hand, swirling her around the room with little regard for the actual beat of the music.  
  
'An' how's my little 'Mione,' he said, looking down gently at her. 'Only the prettiest girl at the ball,' he added.  
  
Hermione blushed, and looked down. 'I'm glad you're here, Hagrid,' was her only answer, and she leant her head against his chest.  
  
At the table, four witches watched the two dance.  
  
'He cut short my dance,' grumbled Minerva.  
  
Poppy clicked her tongue and looked at her friend. 'Come, now, Minerva. You have had three with him already.'  
  
'He's the only male member of staff that can waltz,' Minerva complained, blatantly ignoring the evidence before her.  
  
The dance finished, and Hermione made her way back to the table. The other four chatted for a while, but Hermione became conscious of a gaze on her. Looking up she saw Lionel Highbury eyeing her from the other end of the table and inwardly cringed. She hoped he didn't have any ideas about dancing with her.  
  
Quickly, she leant forward to Hooch.  
  
'Act like you're saying something deep and intriguing,' she whispered. Hooch looked at her in surprise, and the other three leant in closer.  
  
'Why? What's the matter?' Poppy asked, also leaning forward.  
  
Hermione sighed. 'Discreet' was certainly not the best word to describe this group. 'Lionel Highbury is watching me and I don't want to dance with him,' she explained.  
  
Sprout leant back, nodding. 'Ah. Another victim of the evening's ceremony.'  
  
'Well, I don't want to be one as well, so could you please pretend I'm deeply involved in conversation?'  
  
'You are,' Hooch pointed out, but Minerva reached forward and patted Hermione's hand.  
  
'Don't worry, dear,' she said. 'He seems to have got the message. He's turned away now.' Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, and sat back. She caught the mischievous look in Sprout's eye.  
  
'You know,' Sprout said, looking at her. 'You say you weren't a victim of tonight's ceremony, but is that completely true?' Hermione frowned, puzzled, and Sprout raised her eyebrows. 'I noticed you in the embrace of a certain dark potions professor earlier this evening,' she said.  
  
Hermione frowned even more until she remembered the hug she had given Snape, when she blushed.  
  
'I didn't- it wasn't,' she said, cursing the heat she could feel on her cheeks. 'I was just- well, everybody was hugging, weren't they?' The four older women merely looked expectantly, and she shook her head and stood.  
  
'You four are hopeless,' she said, adding a smile to show them she wasn't entirely serious. 'I'm going on patrol.' The others watched as she walked off, then looked knowingly at each other. As she left the room, Professor Snape entered through the balcony doors.  
  
'We should send him after her,' Hooch said stoutly.  
  
Poppy gave her a glance. 'And why is that, considering how successful our last attempts at matchmaking were? We almost made them stop talking to each other!'  
  
'They got locked in a bottle together, didn't they?' Hooch replied. 'Quality time. Besides, you give up too easily, Pops- haven't you heard, "If at first you don't succeed-"'  
  
""Give up before you make a complete fool of yourself, you stupid biddy,"' Poppy finished for her, and Sprout laughed.  
  
'Well,' Minerva said, watching as Snape stalked to the edge of the room and stood against a wall, 'Hermione hugged Severus at the end of the ceremony.'  
  
Esmerelda raised her eyebrows and nodded. 'And,' she said, '*he* didn't seem to mind.'  
  
'Well, that's progress, at least, though I wish they'd get on with it.' Hooch rubbed her jaw, her eyes following Snape as he stalked back out of the room. 'There's nothing worse than two people frittering about for ages instead of just getting on with it like reasonable human beings.'  
  
'You're such a- a *man* sometimes, Freya,' Poppy said. 'Don't you ever enjoy the anticipation? The excitement?' Hooch glared at her, and, crossing her arms, slumped back against her chair.  
  
'I am not a man,' she grumbled. Silence reigned over the table for a few moments, while the others continued to watch the activity in the room.  
  
'Besides,' Hooch began again, sitting up, 'if Severus doesn't do something soon, we'll have to wait the entire summer before we get any action.'  
  
'Have you never heard of foreplay, Freya?' Sprout asked, laughing. Hooch sent her a hard look.  
  
'Foreplay is all well and good,' she said, 'but I am a believer in the Big Bang theory. Especially when I'm participating vicariously.'  
  
The others looked at her in amused disgust as Dumbledore approached the table.  
  
'I don't suppose I might have a dance with the most charming Deputy Headmistress in the room?' he asked, extending his hand to McGonagall. Minerva rolled her eyes and stood.  
  
'Yes, but only because it's too late for her to expect more charm from an old coot like you,' she said as she allowed him to leave her from the table.  
  
The two began to dance to the soft music piping from an enchanted stereo, the band having packed up an hour before.  
  
'So, still plotting over Severus, I see,' Dumbledore said, twinkling down at his friend.  
  
Minerva looked at him. 'Really, Albus,' she said, shaking her head. 'You are a dear friend and I love you greatly, but sometimes you annoy the dickens out of me.' He shrugged.  
  
'What more could a man ask for,' he said.  
***  
'I could cry salty tears...'  
  
The music travelled up from the great hall, carried on the still night air. Hermione was infinitely glad she had been able to magick a muggle stereo system for the last half of the ball. There was something about Sarah Vaughan's sultry voice echoing through the halls of the castle that was more than magical. It brought back memories of her childhood; watching her parents as they washed the dinner dishes, her father singing softly in her mother's ear. They hadn't known she was watching, but that was part of the beauty of it.  
  
She leant against the stone windowsill, watching the full moon glide over a mass of cloud. No wonder Ailie worshipped nature so, she thought. There was something beautiful in every part of it.  
  
Weariness crept up her limbs as she stood, and silently Hermione stretched first one calf, then the other, watching the landscape outside. The ball was over; she probably should be helping the other teachers with the last of the clear-up, but the scene before her was just too peaceful.  
  
A small noise in the corridor behind her made her turn, only to see Snape standing at the end of the hall. She straightened, and inclined her head in greeting. She was surprised when Snape not only returned the greeting, but stepped forward.  
  
'Given up on your duties as teacher?' he asked, coming to stand beside her at the window. 'I'm certain many students are taking advantage of the moonlight and breaking rules.' The comment was harsh, but the voice that delivered it was low and silky. Against her will, Hermione felt a shiver shimmer down her spine.  
  
Hermione looked up at him. 'I wouldn't dream of depriving you of your favourite occupation, Professor Snape,' she answered. Looking out at the lawn below, she continued, 'For years I've been certain that's the only reason you attend Hogwarts functions; for the pleasure of finding out trysts and delivering detentions.'  
  
'It does have its advantages,' he answered, surprising Hermione yet again with his gentle tone. He leant against the casement and joined her in looking out across the landscape. 'Alas, students escape over summer.' His tone was wry; she could only guess how much he looked forward to student- free time.  
  
'Ailie's gone,' Hermione said, eventually. Her voice was quiet.  
  
'I know,' Snape answered, just as quietly.  
  
'But how.?' Hermione asked, puzzled. Ailie had left in utmost secrecy; Hermione figured it was to prevent any sort of attack. She had only discovered Ailie's absence when she had visited their rooms a while ago, and found the small package of Ailie's things gone, along with any personal touches to her rooms.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow, and Hermione remembered the link between the two. 'Oh,' she said. 'Well, I'm sure she'll be happy,' she added, more for her own benefit than anything.  
  
'The school shall certainly be quieter,' said Snape, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. After a pause, he added, 'I am sure you will be sorry to see her go. I know you and she were... friends.'  
  
Hermione smiled at his reluctance to use the word. 'You were her friend too.'  
  
'Yes. I'm certain I will hardly cope for the loneliness,' Snape remarked dryly. 'Having my potions stores in some sense of order will never be the same.' Hermione smiled into the moonlight.  
  
Silence stretched out between them once more, though it was only Hermione's awareness that made her uncomfortable. The chill of the stone worked its way up her arms, and she stretched again. Looking up, she saw Snape's sidelong look of enquiry.  
  
'I never knew how tiring running a ball was for you teachers,' she explained. 'I can almost see why you get so grumpy about them.' Snape inclined his head.  
  
'I am sure you will get used to it,' he said. Hermione blinked. That was as close to admitting that she was a permanent fixture at Hogwarts as Snape had ever come. Looking up, she saw that he was looking at her, a contemplative expression on his face. Strangely, his gaze didn't make her feel uncomfortable as it usually did; Hermione wondered if it was because she was so tired.  
  
With a feeling of timeless sleepiness she contemplated him in return. For once, Snape seemed relaxed, probably the first time she had ever seen him as such. He didn't seem inclined to be snarky, either, which was close to a miracle. He leant casually against the window-ledge only inches away from her, his hand resting on his knee, seemingly comfortable with the situation. It was almost a moment out of time.  
  
She was never certain whether one leant, or the other, but somehow she found her face inches from his, with one of his beautiful, graceful hands curled gently in her hair. She almost sighed as his lips touched hers. Without any premeditation, their kiss felt as though it was the natural state of things to be. She closed her eyes and leant into it, feeling his lips glide gently on hers, feeling his thumb stroke the softness of her cheek. Her hand came up to touch his arm, then to rest on his chest, where she could feel the slow warm thump of his heartbeat. As her lips parted and she felt the tentatively tantalising flick of his tongue, she slid her hand up to touch the soft skin at his collar, gliding her thumb over the sandpapery stubble at the base of his throat. This, she reflected, was how a beard was supposed to feel.  
  
They remained like that, enraptured in gentle kisses, for a while. Somewhere in her brain, Hermione knew that thoughts were in overdrive, but she pushed them aside for now. She just wanted to stay here, with his hand in her hair and his lips slowly lifting her to heaven, for as long as she possibly could. It felt nice. It felt like coming home.  
  
Eventually, their kisses ebbed, and the sweet pleasure of his thumb stroking her cheek was removed. Hermione sat back and opened her eyes, letting him extricate his hand from her knot of curls. His dark eyes consumed her for moments that felt like forever.  
  
She let him leave without a look or word, because she knew he wanted to.  
A/N: To reviewers- PhoenixFeather7: thanks for the numerous reviews. Yes, it was that David Wenham. He's an Australian actor and I've always thought he was a bit of a sweetie, so I put him in.  
  
RedStrawberry900: I'm really sorry to hear about your keyboard! I'm familiar with the star-in-circle Wiccan thing, but I actually wanted my Wiccans to be different from real ones, just because I didn't want to trivialise the real religion. Anyway, I hope you like the solstice ritual. As for your quote about the chainsaw thing: there was a Darwin Award (comic awards given to people who prevent their stupid genes getting into the gene pool either by killing themselves in a stupid way or injuring their genitals) for a guy who actually used a belt sander to, er, pleasure himself. I won't go into details, because it's quite gross.  
  
farwing: I can't believe the Waifs are going overseas. I love 'Fisherman's Daughter' especially.  
  
Uberscully: Aah, it's nice to know another fan is reading my work! Here's something to blow your mind: I've met Gillian Anderson.  
  
To everyone else: Marston Chicklet, Redone, Matraeia, Juno, MadAboutHarry (no, it's always been under this title, sorry), HeavenStone, Goddessnmb1, beatrice 2005, Angel of the North, KET, Canadian Wierdo, pineapplehead (is that a Crowded House reference?), HunnySnowBunny, angel-g2001 and anyone else I've forgotten- I love you all madly and you are bright, shining human beings. Oh, and thanks for the reviews.  
  
I have a question for anyone in America or Canada, more specifically Canada. I'm currently writing a plot in which the main character, a foreigner living in Toronto, really loves tea. Just plain, black-leaf tea, with milk and sugar. I'd imagined that tea would be a little difficult to get in Toronto, but now that I think about it I don't actually know. Can anyone tell me the sort of hot beverages someone might drink over there, and whether tea would be easy to obtain (and also whether it would come loose leaf, or in tea bags, or whatever)? 


	32. Only Slightly Steamy

Chapter Thirty-Two  
The next morning dawned bright and clear, and Hermione rose almost with the sun, unable to sleep. Today, all of the children would return to their homes, leaving the castle near-empty. Most of the staff would return to their homes, visiting family or, in many cases, taking the opportunity to travel. Though they would most likely use the castle as a home base over the summer, the staff were free to pursue their own lives from today.  
  
Which left Hermione in an interesting position. She had received no sign of any invitation to stay on at Hogwarts. In a few days, all of the teachers would submit their evaluation of her to her college, who would then make their decision on giving her her degree. She had few worries in that corner- the only person who would be likely to give her a bad report would be Snape, and the two of them had been getting along relatively well lately.  
  
The topic of Snape made Hermione blush as she thought of their kiss the night before. The whole event smacked of the unreal, now. She could almost think she had imagined it, except now she had the sure certainty of what Severus Snape tasted like imprinted in her mind, knew how the stubble on his chin felt against her skin, knew the pulse of his throat, beating so strongly she couldn't tell if it was her own as well. She also knew that it would be a good idea to put such remeniscences out of her mind- if they were to work together, if they weren't to work together, if they were locked up in a room again for three weeks, he would never mention it.  
  
And the topic might never come up anyway. There was absolutely no reason for her to remain at Hogwarts. Where else she could go, she didn't know- her parents, fully confident that their grown-up daighter could continue to look after herself, had sold their old house and bought a much more pleasant, but much smaller, house in Reading. She could camp out in the spare room, but the idea didn't appeal. Ron and Ginny had offered their flat for her use, but even Hermione knew that 'any time she wanted' was an invitation to trouble when it came to staying with friends. Harry was unable to accomodate her, her bank account couldn't carry her very far... Basically, her lack of planning, getting caught up in life at Hogwarts, could land her in a sticky situation.  
  
Hermione sighed. She would probably be okay. There were quite a few people, she knew, who would want their children tutored over the summer, brushing up on subjects for the coming year. She could probably even travel to France, teaching English there. It could all turn out to be a big adventure.  
  
So why did it all depress her so horribly?  
***  
Minerva McGonagall was putting the final touches on some student reports when a knock sounded at her door. Before she could give permission to enter, the door was swept open by a rather jubilant Professor Sprout who then ensconced herself in a chair before the desk.  
  
'I don't believe I've seen you this energetic for months, Esmerelda,' Minerva said, laying her quill down on the desk.  
  
'I just sent off the last lot of the students,' Sprout replied happily. She raised an eyebrow at her colleague. 'A task I noticed you managed to get out of.'  
  
'I did my part early this morning in making sure all my Gryffindors were packed and ready to depart,' McGonagall said dryly, 'I failed to notice your cheery face that early.'  
  
Sprout snorted, slumping in her chair. 'Well,' she said. 'Anyway, the important thing is that they're gone. No more mysterious rashes or sudden explosions in my greenhouses for three whole months!'  
  
'Are you planning to travel this year at all?' McGonagall asked.  
  
Sprout nodded. 'I had a letter from a colleague in Africa- apparently she's been finding some intriguing samples of Herbstone in the jungles there. I thought I'd take a look,' she explained, looking down to study her nails. Minerva looked at her with narrowed eyes.  
  
'No bringing back any samples, Esme,' she cautioned, giving her friend a stern look. 'And that means dried as well. We get in enough trouble every year with the Ministry as it is.'  
  
'I was just going to bring back some supplies for Poppy-' Sprout began, looking cowed, but was cut off by Minerva's raised hand.  
  
'All of which Poppy can get through legal means,' McGonagall said. 'No.'  
  
Another knock interrupted their conversation, and both turned to see the headmaster peek around the door.  
  
'Ah, Minerva, Esmerelda,' he said, smiling as he entered the room. 'It's good to catch both of you. I just wanted to remind both of you that young Miss Granger's reviews are due back to her college as soon as possible.' Minerva motioned for him to take a seat, and he did.  
  
'Well, that'll be easy,' Esmerelda said, leaning back. 'Hermione was quite good in my classes, especially when it came to helping the children who were struggling. I won't be recommending her for my position, of course,' she smiled, 'but her skills as a teacher are well formed.'  
  
'Hermione did remarkably well with the students she was tutoring in my class,' McGonagall said. 'She's always been good with troubled students.'  
  
Dumbledore raised his hands. 'Save it for your reports, please, ladies. I am in complete agreement.'  
  
Sprout leant toward Dumbledore, looking at him curiously. 'So,' she said. 'What are we going to do about our young ex-student?' Dumbledore sighed, and glanced at Minerva, who looked put down also.  
  
'The trouble is, we have no vacancies at the moment,' she said, and Sprout nodded sympathetically. As much as she liked Hermione, a young, fairly inexperienced graduate hadn't the clout to push someone else from their position.  
  
Dumbledore moved slightly, and Sprout looked over to see a contemplative expression on his face.  
  
'Manuel Hardworthy has been showing some signs of strain in his position,' the headmaster said, and his two companions raised their eyebrows at each other. Hardworthy had begun his position as Muggle Studies teacher two years ago, first filling in for Constance Vennily, the former teacher, who had gone on leave, and then gaining the permanent position when Vennily had decided to retire altogether. Hardworthy, though having studied his subject quite thoroughly, was as a magic-born wizard lacking in some of the nuances of muggle culture.  
  
'Do you mean you would ask him to leave?' Sprout asked, intrigued. Not very many members of staff at Hogwarts had been fired.  
  
'I am considering many options, Esmerelda,' the old man said, rising to leave. 'There are more factors to be thought of.'  
  
With a nod of goodbye, the headmaster left the room, leaving a trail of melancholy behind him.  
  
Later, sitting on the headmaster's personal terrace after dinner and watching the sun go down, McGonagall contemplated her old friend.  
  
'Are you really considering getting rid of Manuel Hardworthy?' she asked.  
  
Dumbledore inclined his head. 'It may be time for that young man to move on. Don't think you weren't the only one to notice just how many of his class schedules were written in the hand of Hermione Granger.'  
  
'She did seem to take a particular interest in that class,' McGonagall acknowledged. 'I don't think Hardworthy's apathy for the subject pleased her,' she added with a smile.  
  
'It may do Mr Hardworthy benefit to brush up on his subject,' Dumbledore said. 'Even if it be transfigured as a dog and living in a muggle household.'  
  
Minerva shot him a look. 'Albus, you wouldn't do that again.'  
  
'You must admit it's an effective method in training the art of appreciating muggles,' Dumbledore said, unrepentantly.  
  
'I am worried, Albus,' Minerva said frankly, a few moments later. 'Hermione has talents that lie beyond the realm of teaching. While I believe the children we teach deserve nothing but the best, of course,' she added, 'I somehow feel that in future years... she might regret it.'  
  
'I too have sensed that Miss Granger may be merely settling for teaching, Minerva,' Dumbledore said. 'Alas, it is often a young person's first path is not the right one for them.'  
  
McGonagall looked at her old friend, his face painted with an orange glow in the sunset. 'So do you think we should try to set her on the right path?'  
  
Dumbledore gave her a speaking look, and she dropped her gaze. 'You know the answer to that, Minerva. It would be just as disastrous for us to try and show people how to live their lives as to let them make their own mistakes; perhaps even more so.' He turned his head to the sunset, and the two of them sat silently for a while. Eventually, he looked back to his companion.  
  
'These are dangerous times. We are on the verge of war, and no matter the outcome the lives of those involved in the wizarding world will soon change forever.' Dumbledore looked down at his hands, and McGonagall saw for once the uncertain young man that he had once been, before he had learnt to walk and speak with authority.  
  
'Hogwarts will be the hub of our fight against the dark,' he said quietly. 'It surely will. Perhaps it will not be such a bad thing to have one more pair of talented hands at our disposal. And after...' He looked up at his friend. 'Hermione will make her own way, I am sure. We will give her time.'  
***  
The moon was low in the sky and the light of the sun just fading when Ailie and Under emerged from their daylight refuge. Under followed Ailie to the top of a nearby hill and silently sat on the ground beside her as she took several items out of a satchel.  
  
'So... why are we doing this again?' he asked.  
  
Ailie smiled, setting three vials out in front of her. 'I want to give them a present.' She picked up a small bag and held it in front of her, closing her eyes and muttering a short incantation. She pulled it back to her, kissing it before turning it upside down and letting a small trail of sand fall from it, forming intricate patterns on the ground in front of her.  
  
'Yes, I understand that,' Under said, bringing one knee up to his chest and leaning on it. 'But don't you think they might look on this as... less than a gift?'  
  
'You don't know them,' Ailie said calmly, opening each of the vials in turn and dripping the oily contents on the sand. She muttered under her breath as she drew patterns in the air over the sand. 'They don't think like we do. They'll flutter about it for years and not have any fun.' Under raised his eyebrows, and Ailie shrugged. 'Besides,' she added, 'they won't even know it was me. They'll just think it was all a dream- believe me, these two are amazing when it comes to ignoring things. Now let me concentrate.'  
  
Under sat back as Ailie leant forward, closing his eyes as he listened to her chant. Ailie swept her hands over the patterns of sand, touching here and there, bringing her fingers to touch her forehead and draw the spell out of her. There was a shift of energies as the spell settled into place. With a smile, she blew gently over the sand patterns, causing them to lift up and disperse into the air, heading back in the direction they had come. Under looked up and followed her gaze.  
  
'Done playing, are we?' he asked. Ailie nodded, dusting off her hands and standing up.  
  
'I like playing Sandman,' she said. Under looked at her, puzzled. She shook her head in exasperation. Adjusting back to Wiccan ways was more difficult than she'd expected. 'Forget it,' she told him.  
  
Refreshed and renewed, the two continued on their journey home.  
***  
Hermione stared out into the black night. The second longest day of the year was over, and she felt as though she had experienced every single second of it.  
  
Though she was tired, a restless energy buzzed within her. She wondered how far Ailie and Under had got by now; the way Under had explained it, they would be travelling at a fair rate during the dark hours. It felt like Ailie was very far away. A couple of times during the day Hermione had almost gone to talk to Snape, just to make sure Ailie was safe. Though she was quite familiar with the feeling of friends going off into danger, this was the first time one was not going to come back. It was too dangerous for Ailie to give any sign of where she was, if she was all right.  
  
Shaking her head, Hermione moved away from the window. As much as she wanted some confirmation that Ailie was safe, she knew it was impossible. She had to find some way to keep her mind off a situation that could not be resolved.  
  
Wanting to feel close to Ailie again in some way, she walked into her bathroom and sat down at the vanity table. On it sat a cute little bottle, full of a scented oil Ailie had mixed as a goodbye present. Hermione had found it there when she finally returned to her rooms last night, exhausted and slightly confused by all that had happened. She uncorked the little bottle now, bringing it tentatively to her nose. Three scents. Jasmine, a touch of patchouli and... something else she couldn't quite place. It smelt quite like rose, but had an element to it that she didn't fully recognise...  
***  
'Virgin rose,' Ailie said with a grin, breathing in the scents of the night. 'I thought it was particularly appropriate for Hermione.' Walking beside her, Under merely raised his eyebrows.  
  
'So, jasmine for a touch of adventure, patchouli for faithfulness, and the petals of an unopened bud, plucked in the darkest pit of the night and crushed in a moss-lined chalice,' he said, after some consideration. 'Love spells, Ailie? I always thought I was the romantic one.'  
  
'You know very well that mixture isn't a love spell unless it's prepared as a draught,' Ailie said, narrowing her eyes at her friend. 'It's just... an inducement. Every time Hermione wears it, she'll feel special. More confident. Loved.'  
  
'And you have a handy little way to enact any spell you please on her.' Ailie glared at him, and he spread his hands in supplication. 'Not that you would ever do anything to hurt her, I know.'  
  
'It's just a way for me to keep an eye on her,' Ailie explained, with a small shrug. 'She needs a lot more help than you or I do.  
  
'You had just better hope that nobody licks her skin, that's all,' Under warned.  
  
Ailie rolled her eyes. 'If they were at that stage, a love spell would be a little superfluous, don't you think?' Under shrugged his reply.  
  
Conversation ceased as they began to scale a hill, and breath was used for better purposes.  
***  
Hermione rubbed the oil into the sensitive spots behind her ears, and felt the pulses on her wrists as the oil seeped in there too. It had a quiet scent, she decided; one that didn't intrude on the senses, but lurked in the background, its presence familiar and quiet. Yet another example of Ailie's skill to match a scent to her so well. Still, she wished she could place that last scent.  
  
With a sigh, Hermione rose and moved into the bedroom. Slipping into her night clothes, she lay down in bed, watching the stars twinkle in their replicated sky and feeling the soft night breeze from the open windows.  
  
She drifted off to sleep, and therefore missed noting the fact that she hadn't actually left any windows open.  
***  
'Okay, smarty pants,' Under said, puffing slightly as they crested the hill and began their descent. 'So how does Snapey-poos link up to all this? You didn't make some special oil for him, too?'  
  
Ailie pulled a face. 'Ugh. No. He'd never trust me enough to wear it, for a start. Anyway, I have a link to him, remember? All I have to do is act as a conductor between the two.'  
  
'You'll be in the dream as well?'  
  
Ailie screwed up her face at that extremely unwelcome mental picture. 'Ew, not that again. No!' she yelled, and Under grinned. 'That was a low trick, Un. No, thankfully all I had to do was wind them up in the spell. I could steal a bit of essence from Snape's consciousness, and a bit from Hermione. The way they are with each other, it was easy enough to wrap them up in each other anyway. Hardly took any sort of pushing at all.'  
  
'Hmm.' The conversation paused for a few minutes as the two had to jump down a tricky precipice. 'You sure you don't want to be there for the dream?' he asked, finally.  
  
Ailie glared at him and poked him with a finger. 'I am quite happy observing my own sex life, Under. I have no wish to participate in others'.'  
  
'Observing your own sex life?' Under asked, walking ahead of her. 'From where? Mt Everest?'  
  
Ailie took off after him. 'I'll get you for that, Under Neverglen!'  
***  
In his own rooms, Snape stared at the flickering fire in front of him. The solace of a fire was not something he sought very often, but he had felt strangely in need of it tonight.  
  
It had been a long day. Robbed of the usual occupation of menacing students, Snape had spent the first day of his holiday doing... nothing. There was simply nothing to do. All his stores were stocked well, all of his marks had been turned in before the end of term, and he had none of his own work to move on with. Even his work with Hermione had been strangely absent today; he had seen nothing of her the whole day, and vaguely wondered if the events of the night before had unsettled her.  
  
As they had him. Somehow, he had expected to feel more discomfort with the remembrance of his actions of the night before, but he was surprisingly at ease with the memory. He supposed the idea that he had kissed a fairly beautiful and intelligent young woman and she had failed to run screaming down the corridor was a comforting one. Although perhaps not to her.  
  
Inwardly, he shook his head. How strange things seemed sometimes. For once happy to be untroubled by reminiscence, he reached for a book at the side of his chair and began to read. Soon, his head rested on his shoulder; he was asleep.  
***  
Hermione shifted in her sleep, breathing in the gentle scent of jasmine and patchouli and roses. Her skin tingled as she was drawn deeper into slumber.  
  
The swathes of sleep slowly moved aside and she became aware of a room. She sensed soft white sheets, tangled and surrounding her, and felt the warmth of skin pressed against her. She turned, and felt the pressure of a hairy leg slide across her thigh, the warmth of a firm hand sliding over her back. A part of her was at first puzzled by the situation, but the feeling passed, to be replaced with the feeling of rightness singular to dreams. She reached up and claimed the lips of the man who held her, entirely comfortable with the way their naked bodies melded together.  
***  
Snape leant down and breathed in the unique scent of Hermione's hair as he slid his hands down her back. The comfort, the familiarity of her lips lulling him into a sensual peace was totally acceptable in this warm, white world. He felt her stretch against him and moved to kiss her neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin behind her ear and smiling as he felt her familiar shiver. Her hands gripped his shoulders and he took the opportunity to pull her closer, revelling in the tingle of her naked skin on his as he slid a leg in between hers, wrapping himself in her.  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind he reflected that this was one hell of a dream, but with a mental shrug he gave himself up to it. He devoured his lover's mouth, running his hands over her as she squirmed against him, pulling her over him so that he could join with her, making them one at last...  
***  
'Good thing you didn't use that dream-potion thing again, though,' Under said, as they paused to rest beside a trickling brook. 'Sounded like that had dangerous consequences.'  
  
Ailie nodded. She had explained to Under all about the tricks she and Hermione had pulled on Snape in the time she had been at Hogwarts, knowing her mischievous friend would appreciate a good joke.  
  
'This way is a lot easier, in many ways,' she said. 'And they get to both participate in it, of course. A perfect situation, really.'  
  
'A dream,' Under agreed. With a nod, he stood up, and offered Ailie a hand. 'I'm still confused about how you linked them; dreams are not exactly the easiest things to conjure, especially reciprocal ones.'  
  
Ailie stood, and frowned. 'You know, that's the strange thing,' she said, dusting off her trousers. 'The energies were just sitting there, waiting. It's like their souls were already knitted together- I just had to give them a bit of a push. Interesting, though,' she added, with a contemplative smile. 'Herm told me about this dream she had when she and Snape were trapped in the genius bottle. It sounded... well, I believe Hermione may be able to sense future echoes.'  
  
Her friend raised his eyebrows in the dark.  
***  
Hermione leant down and kissed her lover tenderly, smiling as her long hair got in the way. He reached up and brushed it out of their way, just like he always did, his smile glowing to her in the dark. His expression sobered as he pulled her down for another lingering kiss, their breaths coming fast now as they moved together. She felt him wrap his arms around her tightly as he rolled them over. She shivered at the warmth of his breath in her ear, clutching him tightly as he murmured tender words to her. Desperately, she turned her head to taste his lips again.  
  
They moved rhythmically together, clutching at each other as the white sheets swirled around them. Hermione's mind was whirling with sensation, unable to rest on anything else. Their breathing became attuned, hearts beating and endlessly marking time together.  
***  
'Shame it's just a dream,' Under said.  
  
'It'll melt away by morning,' Ailie replied.  
***  
Snape stretched, vaguely aware that he was in bed. He remembered white, and warmth; two things he usually didn't find together. He remembered some delicious scent... something to do with roses. He closed his eyes and leant back. His cheek brushed the pillow and he was reminded of a familiar warm softness. Ah, yes. His face lit up with a faint smile as the sense of the dream came back to him, and he buried himself in it once more, unwilling to give it up so soon.  
  
Light was just filtering through the small windows at the top of his wall when he awoke again. He blinked blearily, feeling strangely refreshed. The sheets tangled with his legs as he tried to get up, and he frowned. It wasn't often that he made his unconscious way from his chair to his bed, but with a shrug, he let it go. It had obviously done him some good to sleep in a bed, for once.  
  
Hermione also rose early, preparing for the day with an eagerness she hadn't expected. She dabbed some more of Ailie's oil on her pulse points before heading down for an early breakfast.  
  
Snape was already seated when Hermione entered, and was indeed the only other person present at such an early hour. The other teachers tended to make the most of holiday hours as soon as they occupied them, usually arriving mid-morning for breakfast if they arrived at all. With a mental shrug, Hermione headed for the seat next to the potions master, risking a smile at him as she sat. He nodded in turn, unusually relaxed for such an early morning.  
  
She opened up the topic of their research, and the chatted cosily for the rest of the meal. 


	33. High necks and witchhazel

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling didn't write this story. She owns no rights to any of the original characters, situations, or concepts. If she wants to steal them, she'll have to sue me. Same for Warner Bros. So ner. Tit for tat, J.K. (Any non-original characters, situations and concepts of course already belong to her.)  
  
A/N: I apologise for not coming through with the promised steam. I just. couldn't do it. I tried, but the word 'manhood' kept popping into my brain.  
  
Chapter Thirty-Three  
A week later, Hermione swept into the potions lab after lunch, startling Snape who had been busy with a delicate experiment. He held up a hand to signal she be quiet, and Hermione obediently sat watching as Snape let the liquid come to a boil, then abruptly froze the whole experiment, moving the bottle to the side to be used later. He turned to her and nodded, and Hermione opened her mouth to explain her idea.  
  
And paused. This was going to be quite a tricky situation, as the whole thing had been inspired by the tricks she and Ailie had pulled on Snape, and his retaliation.  
  
It had been a dream that had inspired it. The week before, waking after some dream she couldn't remember, Hermione had got to thinking about the nature of dreams, especially the unusual effects of the dream potion she and Snape had consumed. She had found it strange at the time that the dream-Snape had managed to leave some very real beard marks on the side of her neck, although her embarrassment at the time had prevented her really investigating the subject. Now, however, she wondered at it- there was no other potion, as far as she could recall, that had that particular effect of bringing the mind's imaginings to reality.  
  
If the subject of the dream could only be controlled, the potential for the potion was mind boggling. Hermione knew that it would be near impossible to fine-tune dreams and fit them into a bottle, but she still wanted to explore the possibility.  
  
Which meant bringing the subject up with Snape. Embarrassing, to say the least. However, he was the only other person with experience of the potion's effects- Hermione vaguely recalled Ailie mentioning that Snape had also suffered some physical after-effects from his dream visitor, which meant her experience was not a one-off event.  
  
All she had to do was get up the courage to mention it.  
  
Hermione looked at the ground, plucking at the material of her robe while trying to think of what to say. The last week had been spent in near- harmony with Snape, the two of them holed up each day in the dungeons, working on their joint experiments. It was a way to fill the time, a handy and productive escape for Hermione now that she had no real cause to continue living in the castle. There was little chance Snape would chastise her for bringing up the subject; in fact, they had developed enough of a professional rapport that he might even listen to her suggestion. That reassurance didn't make it any easier, however.  
  
She looked up and saw an expression of slight concern in the potions master's eyes, and took a deep breath. Perhaps the most straightforward way was the best way.  
  
'Pro-professor Snape,' she began, and he nodded slightly, leaning forward. Hermione cleared her throat and began again. 'Er...' A flash of irritation lit his eye, and seeing her time was short, she plunged on. 'I believe it may be possible to create a potion with which physical effects may be produced from dream images.' Snape leant against a desk and waited for more, and Hermione cleared her throat. 'The er- er, potion I believe we could use to achieve this effect is the one that you and I both ingested at the beginning of the year.' She bit her lip, and waited for some form of reply.  
  
'Ah,' Snape said, and Hermione looked up. There appeared to be something like amusement in his eyes, but she felt she must be mistaken. The flicker came again, however, when he said, 'And what brings you to this conclusion?' Hermione saw the challenge in his eyes, and her Gryffindor spirit rose to meet it.  
  
'Because both you and I exhibited physical evidence of injuries received in the dreams caused by that potion,' she said, raising her chin and meeting his gaze steadily. He raised an eyebrow, and nodded.  
  
'I know,' he admitted. 'How do you propose this effect be put to use?'  
  
Grateful that he had listen to her hypothesis so easily, Hermione grabbed her books and laid out her notes on the desk. They spent the next ten minutes going over her ideas.  
  
'Unfortunately,' she concluded with slight embarrassment, 'it will mean that the potion in its altered state will need to be consumed by a stable group of test subjects to judge if it has altered. It would possibly have been better for you and I to experiment alone, but...' she trailed off, not wanting to sound bitter about her imminent departure from the school.  
  
Snape looked up at her, puzzled. 'But what? I heard no mention of you having any plans to travel this summer.'  
  
Hermione looked down. 'I haven't received any invitation to remain at Hogwarts,' she explained. 'I have to make plans on a place to stay until I can find a position, but as soon as I possibly can-'  
  
'Nonsense,' Snape said, turning dismissively back to the notes. 'Miss Granger, loath as I am to admit it, you are a capable teacher, and also a favourite of our deified headmaster. I've yet to see Albus Dumbledore fail in any plan, and he has several spinning at the moment that involve your continued residence in this castle. Besides, Manuel Hardworthy has been heading for the door since mid-semester, and it will take little manoeuvring to see him firmly out of it.'  
  
Hermione stood, open-mouthed at his speech. It had almost sounded as though Snape was in favour of her remaining at Hogwarts, or at least didn't mind excessively the idea she could be staying. Snape looked up, and shot a look at her open mouth.  
  
'Attempting to catch flies, Granger?' Hermione promptly snapped her mouth shut, her mind racing for an appropriate response.  
  
'No,' she said, staring at him evenly. 'It's just that I haven't heard you speak that many words altogether since your first-year speech.' Snape's mouth twitched at the joke, and he looked back to the work.  
  
'I suggest we begin work on this potion as soon as possible,' he said, glancing at her. 'Shall you brew it, or shall I?'  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrow at this. 'I didn't know we used exactly the same recipe,' she said.  
  
Snape stood, moving toward his store cupboard and speaking back to her. 'The potion you consumed was produced from a memorised recipe found in a red-covered book in your rooms, augmented with a simple sleeping draught,' he said, his voice dimming as he moved around the stores cupboard. Hermione went to stand at the door, surprised at the speed with which he reappeared, his arms full of ingredients. 'The book was, I believe,' he said, a quirk of humour in his gaze, 'Tabitha's Sensual Spellbook.' Hermione stared at him.  
  
'How did you-' she began, then paused. 'How did you get into my rooms without my noticing?' she asked, finally.  
  
Snape raised an eyebrow. 'Miss Granger, if you have to ask that, your knowledge of the members of Slytherin house is very meagre indeed.'  
  
Hermione smiled. 'Okay. You did it sneakily.' There was an answering smile in Snape's eyes. 'You... I know, you must have either waited outside my rooms to gain my password as I spoke it, or gained entry when I went in. Either way would have required an invisibility cloak or imperceptibility spell.'  
  
'Correct,' Snape said, giving no sign that he was going to tell her which one it was.  
  
'Well?' Hermione asked with a note of impatience. 'Which was it?'  
  
'Alas, Miss Granger, you do not know me well at all,' Snape said, keeping his eyes on the ingredients he was measuring out. Hermione, unwilling to give in, went to stand in his peripheral vision, hands on her hips.  
  
'Severus,' she said, tilting her head to the side enquiringly. 'What method did you use to get into my rooms?' It had to be one of the two ways she'd listed, but picturing him slipping into her room when she entered it or having him know her password were equally disturbing. 'Hmm?' she asked, leaning down to catch his eye.  
  
He looked at her solidly. 'When we were in the genius bottle you walked behind me at one time and did something which you would not reveal. Quid pro quo.'  
  
Hermione's eyes widened. 'You still remember that?' she asked, amazed. He stared at her, his expression unchanging. 'You'll only tell me how you got into my rooms if I tell you... I can't believe it.'  
  
'After seven years of study, your lack of knowledge of the Slytherin psyche is startling,' Snape said, turning back to the ingredients and picking up several of them. 'As I was the first recipient of this particular potion, I believe it only fair that you take first turn, this time,' he added, as he walked over to the cauldron. Hermione raised her eyebrows but followed obediently to the cauldron.  
  
Their brewing was interrupted by a knock at the door, and both turned to see Professor Sprout watching them from the doorway, a slight smile on her face.  
  
'Albus has instructed me to get you two to a meal, for once,' she said, her smile widening. 'Too much of this, and you'll both go blind.' Hermione blushed at the unmistakable double entendre but hoped from his countenance that Snape didn't get it. She allowed Sprout to lead her from the dungeons, sensing Snape following behind her.  
  
They decided that the sooner they began to experiment the better, and so that evening, as the staff gathered in the staff room for post-prandial drinks and chatter, many saw Snape make an unexpected appearance and hand Miss Granger a vial of some mysterious liquid, which she took with an enigmatical look and drank. As she nodded at him and made her good nights, Dumbledore and McGonagall approached the window where Snape stood looking after her.  
  
'What was that about, Severus?' asked Hooch, who also happened to be standing nearby.  
  
'I'm certain Severus was merely providing Miss Granger with a sleeping draught,' Dumbledore replied for him, eyes twinkling. Hooch seemed satisfied with the answer, and turned back to her previous conversation.  
  
'So what was that really about, Severus?' Minerva asked. Snape merely looked at her intimidatingly, and she shrugged.  
  
Snape turned to Dumbledore. 'How long are you planning on keeping the girl on tenterhooks, Albus?' he asked. Albus inclined his head, obviously after more information, and Snape elaborated. 'Miss Granger told me she expects to be given an eviction notice from you at any moment.' Minerva's eyebrows shot up, and she shared a look with the headmaster. When she opened her mouth to speak, however, Dumbledore laid a hand on her arm.  
  
'I'm afraid we are having difficulty finding a place for Miss Granger at present,' Albus said. 'I had hoped that a position would be clearing for her, but unfortunately...' He spread his hands in a gesture of regret, and Snape snorted.  
  
'You could have Hardworthy out on his ear in a second if you wanted to, Albus,' he sneered. 'The man's an incompetent.'  
  
'And Miss Granger would be a good replacement?' Albus asked, raising his eyebrows. Snape glared at him.  
  
'That would be for you to decide, headmaster,' he said, turning back to the window, missing the knowing smile Minerva sent after him.  
  
Minerva shot Dumbledore a impish look, and as the headmaster peered at her quizically, she nodded in Snape's direction.  
  
'It is such a shame, Albus,' she said, her voice loud enough to carry to the potions master. 'I know Miss Granger was mentioning she had nowhere to stay once she leaves Hogwarts.'  
  
Albus frowned. 'Well, that is no good, Minerva. Hermione should know she would always have a home here if she had nowhere else...' He let the sentence flounder as Minerva strenuously shook her head, glancing in Snape's direction. He frowned deeper, puzzled, but decided to see where his colleague was heading. 'Surely Miss Granger's parents would provide a home for her?'  
  
'They have unfortunately moved into a home too small to accommodate a grown child,' McGonagall said with a smile. 'I believe she is considering various options. I know Hermione received a letter the other day from Sirius, and I believe he would offer her a home while she decided what to do.' Minerva paused and twinkled at Albus for a moment, who raised his eyebrows expressively. 'You know, I do believe Hermione and Sirius get along quite well together,' she added, as the two of them watched the obviously listening potions master stand up a little straighter at the comment. McGonagall's eye held an impish look. 'You know, Albus, I've often wondered if there is something between those two-' She was cut off as Snape abruptly turned, bestowing them with a small nod as he exited the room. Both of his colleagues smiled after him.  
The next morning Hermione woke up breathless and dazed. In a few seconds, reality returned, and she flopped back down into bed. Then she turned on her side and hit the pillow beside her vigorously with a small scream.  
  
The potion had definitely worked. Almost exactly as before.  
  
Knowing it would do her little good to remain in bed, Hermione got up and decided it would be an idea to test the rumoured benefits of a cold shower. Around two minutes later, a much colder, much grumpier and not at all less frustrated Hermione threw on some robes and exited her rooms, slamming the door quite satisfactorily behind her and startling a passing ghost.  
  
After apologising to the disapproving Grey Lady, Hermione wandered the halls without purpose. It was about 6 a.m.- too early to begin breakfast. Restless energy ferreted around her body and Hermione decided the best place for her was probably outside; at least climbing a damp grassy hill would wear her out a little.  
  
On her way across the lawn, Hermione met Esmerelda Sprout, who was just returning from a hard night in the greenhouses.  
  
'There's been a frost,' Sprout explained. 'Some of my blathering fogiesprouts needed hot water bottling- they do shrivel up so if they don't get the proper warmth, even in summer.' Hermione nodded sympathetically, and Sprout's eyes strayed to Hermione's neck. She raised an eyebrow.  
  
'Well,' said Sprout, a tinge of laughter in her voice. 'At least someone had some fun last night.' Hermione frowned, and comically tried to look at her neck.  
  
'What?' she asked, extremely puzzled. Sprout laughed.  
  
''Mione, you don't have to play coy with me,' she said with a wink. 'Goodness knows I did enough of that sort of thing at your age. Who was the lucky man, hmm?' When Hermione shook her head in puzzlement, Sprout merely chuckled and continued on her way to the castle.  
  
Once Sprout was out of sight, Hermione turned back, almost running by the time she hit the doors to the castle. She headed straight for the first floor bathrooms, peering in the foggy mirror for some sign of a mark on her neck.  
  
What she found there was not pleasing. There were clearly marks on her neck, little purple bruises that were obviously lovebites from a playful over. They descended below her neckline, and she pulled aside her robe to see that there were one or two more, as well as a few reddish scratches on her shoulder.  
  
Hermione leant her head against the cool mirror and groaned. She knew exactly who the lucky man had been, and could remember with terrible clarity the actions that had resulted in those marks. They were exactly the same actions that had led to her need for a cold shower and a brisk walk this morning, the actions performed by a rather aggressive dream lover that had escalated until she woke up gasping this morning. It was no comfort that this particular outcome was exactly what the two of them had intended on beginning the experiment.  
  
With a sigh, she stood up straight again, and headed for the door. It looked like another day of high-necked collars and concealment charms, though the latter would work little once Professor Sprout told the rest of the faculty that their newest member was walking around with three hickies on her neck. Unfortunately, concealment charms only worked when the person didn't know what they were looking for.  
  
The general crappiness of her day increased tenfold when she almost ran into Snape in the corridor, a happening which was only second to 'running into Snape in my bedroom' on her list of things she wanted to avoid today. As he opened his mouth to speak, she couldn't avoid remembering certain aspects of the dream the night before. Oh, if only the man knew what the phantom of those lips had done to her...  
  
Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione muttered something about needing a headache potion and promised to see him at breakfast in a few moments, spinning on her heel and hurrying down the hallway as fast as she dared. She knew Snape probably thought her a lunatic, but it was a small sacrifice for her sanity.  
  
Once she got to her rooms and put on a high-necked sweater, Hermione felt better. She conjured herself a calming cup of tea, feeling the effect of the rosemary oil she'd rubbed into her temples slowly kick in. With a much calmer mind, she smoothed her skirts and made her way to the great hall for breakfast.  
  
Thankfully, by the time she arrived several of the staff had arrived for their morning refreshment, and she was able to take her usual seat, far away from Snape, without appearing to avoid him. Still, it was a mixed blessing; though she was relieved of having to sit near him, hearing his mesmerising tones discussing their proposed work for the day, smelling his distinctly unique scent and tortured by the sight of his graceful hands buttering toast, her peripheral vision was filled with tantalising glimpses of black across the room and her traitorous mind filled in the details for her.  
  
Breakfast was soon over, however, and Hermione walked with Snape down to the dungeons to discuss the first part of their experiment.  
As Hermione took a seat behind one of the desks, Snape leant against his own and stared at her. She was behaving strangely this morning, and seemed oddly distracted, not at all what he would have expected from someone usually so focused when it came to experiments. She avoided his eye as he waited for the results of last night's experiment, and he leant over slightly to catch her eye. Her eyes widened slightly, and she slowly nodded.  
  
'Well, it worked,' she said. Snape's position didn't change. 'It... really worked?' she tried.  
  
Snape shifted slightly. 'What, precisely,' he asked, 'worked?'  
  
Hermione grimaced. 'All of it?'  
  
With a small sigh, Snape walked forward, and motioned for her to rise. This behaviour was not like Hermione at all. 'Were there any physical effects?' he asked, and was surprised to see Hermione blanch slightly.  
  
'Well, Miss Granger? Would you care to actually participate in this experiment, or would you prefer to continue to sit and nod like a vegetative idiot?'  
  
He watched as a slow blush crept over her face, and she nodded. Taking her wand, she magically parted part of the seam on her sweater, revealing a series of marks along her neck and shoulder. As his eyes lit on them, Snape made a movement of concern, reaching forward to look at the marks more closely.  
  
'What did this?' he asked with a frown. 'Were you hurt?'  
  
Hermione shook her head. 'No- no,' she said, and looked down. 'They weren't caused by- by painful means.'  
  
Snape frowned, looking down at her shuttered expression. 'Who did this to you?' he asked, his voice sharp. 'What happened?'  
  
'The marks, they're not-' she began, but Snape walked around behind her to examine the marks more closely, running his fingers along them. She cleared her throat, and Snape noted that her cheeks grew even more red.  
  
'The dream potion worked the same as last time,' she said firmly. '*Exactly* the same as last time.'  
  
Snape frowned for a moment, his eyes still on the bruises on Hermione's neck, when comprehension dawned. 'Oh,' he said, feeling almost inclined to blush himself as his brain registered the familiar shape of the bruises. He had seen them on many students in his time, after all. A thought flickered through his brain. 'Exactly?' he asked, unconsciously running his fingers over her skin and wondering if his phantom self had inflicted them- again. Hermione shivered under him, and he felt a small thrill as he removed his hand.  
  
'Yes,' she said, her cheeks aflame now. She repaired her sweater with her wand and sat up a little straighter. Snape allowed himself a small smirk before he moved away from her.  
  
The two of them began to list the ingredients used in the potion, and discussed possible changes that could alter its effect. The process was made difficult by Hermione's refusal to discuss even remotely the details of her dream or the cause of her injuries; Snape didn't think he'd ever seen an Englishwoman blush so much in one morning. The morning ended with her somewhat breathless suggestion that Snape take the unaltered potion that evening himself to provide him with an untarnished example of its workings, before stating her need for fresh air and practically running from the room.  
  
As the sound of her footsteps down the corridor faded, Snape chuckled inwardly. The morning had been quite fun. Miss Granger's ability to concentrate had apparently relied on the amount of distance between the two of them, something he had discovered roughly halfway through the morning and had taken immense pleasure in manipulating. It was probably unfair of him, but he had rather enjoyed watching the pulse at her neck speed up whenever he sat next to her or leant across to retrieve a parchment or text. Besides, he wasn't used to producing any reaction not driven by fear; it was rather a novelty.  
  
A discreet cough came from the doorway, and Snape looked up and waved the headmaster in.  
  
'That was Miss Granger I passed on the stairs, I take it?' the headmaster asked. 'She was moving rather too quickly for me to see.' Snape nodded, and ignored the old wizard's chuckle.  
  
'You and Miss Granger appear to be working quite amicably at the moment,' Dumbledore continued, walking over and picking up a sheath of their notes. Snape continued to shelve the ingredients they had got out during the course of the morning, overlooking the old man's invasion of his work. The headmaster needed to be informed on their project anyway.  
  
'We may need your help,' Snape said, returning his attention to Dumbledore. 'Hermione has discovered specific properties of a dream potion that will be of immense use to us in the act of war. However, I believe we will need to explore the possibilities of psychic connection in tandem with the potion. I believe you said something about having trained with the Wiccans when we found Ailie?'  
  
Dumbledore nodded. 'Of course, dear boy, of course. Psychic connection is difficult, though the Wiccans exploit the magical properties of their blood. It should be possible to enhance wizard blood to achieve a similar effect.'  
  
Snape nodded. 'Good. If you are free tomorrow, I would appreciate your input.' Dumbledore nodded his acceptance of the proposal, and sat back, watching as the potions master finished putting his stores in order.  
  
Finally, Snape had had enough of the silent stare.  
  
'Do you require something?' he asked, raising an eyebrow at the old wizard, who ruined the effect by chuckling.  
  
'I just wanted to inform you that Manuel Hardworthy has volunteered to take a sabbatical, studying his subject under the guise of a student at a muggle university,' the headmaster said, twinkling. 'Miss Granger will receive her letter of invitation for the position by the end of the day. So you needn't worry needlessly over her welfare.'  
  
Snape glared. 'I wasn't.' The twinkle did not diminish.  
  
'Well, I just thought I would relieve you of your worry,' Dumbledore said, rising and heading for the door, 'as you seemed to be so concerned over Miss Granger's arrangements.'  
  
'Thank you, Albus,' Snape said, glaring him out of the door.  
  
'I do hate to see you worried, Severus,' Dumbledore's voice came floating back. Snape glared at the door so hard that it shut itself out of sheer embarrassment.  
  
The thing about having Albus Dumbledore for a headmaster, Snape reflected as the old wizard's chuckle sounded through the door, was that it would be so very difficult to assassinate him without creating a fuss.  
As it was a fine day, and as she was unwillingly wrapped up quite well because of the marks on her neck, Hermione decided to lunch on the lawns. The morning with Snape had been nearly unbearable; having him constantly so near had had her very close to begging him to trail those lovely fingers of his over her skin once more. She had no wish to bump into him during her meal.  
  
The feeling of frustration also led to an unexpected need for female companionship and solace. She felt she had to talk about the situation, or run the risk of bursting into flames the next time she was in the same room as Snape. Hermione had never been in this situation before; at school, she had had a plentiful supply of supportive female ears to spill her boy troubles to, but hadn't the need. Now, she was beginning to understand the reason for Lavender and Parvarti's all-night chats.  
  
Passing Minerva in the hall with her basket of food, Hermione impulsively asked the deputy headmistress to join her for lunch. Minerva seemed pleased by the offer.  
  
'The house elves have packed more than enough food for two here,' she explained, as they made their way outside. The two of them quickly set out the necessities for the picnic and sat down.  
  
McGonagall made the subject easier for her by bringing up the morning's gossip.  
  
'Esmerelda told me she had seen you this morning,' the older witch said, peeling an apple with a handy little dirk. Hermione began to blush, and McGonagall cast a shrewd eye over her.  
  
'Witchhazel is wonderful for marks, my dear,' she said with a kindly smile. 'It generally clears them up in a day or so. Poppy has some in her stores.'  
  
'Uh, that's okay,' Hermione said, looking down. 'There's some in the dungeons store cupboard.' She blushed harder as a delighted smile came over McGonagall's features.  
  
'So it *was* him!' she exclaimed. 'I knew it, but Freya was betting it was-' She stopped as Hermione, startled, shook her head.  
  
'No, that's not it at all!' she said, hasty to correct the misunderstanding. If such a supposition got back to Snape she'd be mortified, regardless of the fact that he undoubtedly had guessed whose dream image had made the marks. 'It wasn't- it was another dream. Snape and I are experimenting with the properties of the dream potion Ailie and I used on him.'  
  
McGonagall's eyebrows raised. 'How on earth-'  
  
'The dream potion causes physical events in the dream to be evidenced physically on the dreamer,' Hermione explained. 'We're trying to manipulate it, but first we needed to study it.'  
  
McGonagall pursed her lips. 'So who did it? In the dream?'  
  
Hermione looked down again, clearing her throat. 'S- Snape.' She kept her face hidden as McGonagall chuckled heartily. 'The problem is,' Hermione continued, 'as we're experimenting I had to- to show him the marks this morning. He wanted to know how I got them- he was worried that the potion had turned rough- and I sort of had to tell him the circumstances. Not exactly everything,' she said, looking up, 'but he may have guessed most of it.'  
  
Minerva gave her a look of concern. 'Are you worried he will embarrass you?' she asked.  
  
'Not at all,' Hermione said. She couldn't picture Snape even so much as openly acknowledging his suspicions of what she had dreamt about. 'He just- it was so difficult sitting there this morning, with him so close. And he had to look at the effects of the dream, and it's so obvious they're- they're-'  
  
'Lovebites,' Minerva said with a gentle smile.  
  
'Yes,' Hermione said with a sigh. 'It's all so embarrassing. It's strange enough to wake up with evidence from a dream lover, but to have the man himself know about it...'  
  
'Yes, I understand, my dear,' said Minerva understandingly. 'But you know, Severus is a very understanding man. Even if he had no inkling that such an outcome was possible, I'm certain he would never hold it against you. In fact, the other witches and I have long wondered if perhaps Severus does not harbour some hopes in your direction?'  
  
Hermione looked down, remembering the night that Ailie left. Certainly, that was some sign that Snape was attracted to her as well. And this morning...  
  
'There is no chance that you plan to do anything about it all, I suppose?' her old teacher asked.  
  
'Not- not really,' Hermione said, blushing again. She wished she only had the confidence to relieve herself of this misery, but the thought of approaching Snape in anything but a professional manner mortified her. She buried her head in her hands and groaned, and Minerva patted her firmly on the back.  
  
'You know, my dear, I've a feeling some very interesting news will be waiting for you when you get back to your rooms. Freya, Poppy and I were planning on giving Esme a small send-off party tomorrow evening, before she heads off to the gods know where in Africa, but it can easily be turned into a celebration as well. If you would like that?' Hermione smiled, and accepted, as the transfiguration teacher stood up. McGonagall offered to help pack up the remains of their picnic, but Hermione declined, saying she would be staying outside a while longer. She packed up slowly, wondering what the thing was that Minerva had hinted at.  
  
As she walked down to the kitchens to return the basket, and then headed up to her rooms, Hermione thought about the events of the morning. If hadn't known better, she would have thought that Snape was deliberately teasing her this morning. Several times, he had sat next to her unnecessarily, and had even brushed her arm once when he reached over to retrieve a book. Once, when she had looked up, there had been an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes.  
  
Hermione frowned, eyes narrowed. So Snape knew of her discomfort, and wasn't above teasing her with it. She knew that particular character trait of his, of course- hadn't he displayed it more than often during her school years? She grimaced at the remembrance of his merciless humiliation of her and Harry over the whole Viktor Krum thing during the Triwizard Tournament. He had done the same about a particular piece of gossip concerning herself, Neville and Malfoy in her seventh year- the gods knew why such a rumour had started, but Malfoy seemed to enjoy it as Snape had verbally reduced poor Neville to jelly. Luckily, by that time Hermione had learnt to not listen when Snape was on the warpath.  
  
No, he wasn't above pulling the same tricks now. He was just operating in a different way. The difference was this time, and she felt she could say this without any false modesty, Hermione was not without means of retaliation.  
  
Wandering up the corridor, deep in thought, she suddenly spied Snape making his way back from lunch. An imp of mischief made her call his name.  
  
'Oh, Snape,' she said, as he turned in her direction and walked over to her. 'I was just wondering if I could borrow some witchhazel from your stores.' She looked away. 'To treat my marks,' she added. Snape raised his eyebrows and nodded, beginning to lead the way to the dungeons. Hermione smiled to herself as they began to head down the stairs.  
  
'I hope you don't mind,' she began as Snape melded with the darkened stairway to the dungeons, 'but I don't keep witchhazel in my stores and the bruises are your fault, after all.' Snape's step faltered slightly before she added, 'As you made me take the dream potion first, of course.' She allowed her smile to widen in the dimness of the stairway, but made sure to sober her expression before he turned to her as they reached the classroom door.  
  
'I don't have a vial,' Hermione explained, touching the edge of her sweater. 'Would you mind...?' She once again magically separated the material that hid the marks on her neck and pulled her hair aside. Her object was merely to disturb him further, fully expecting him to refuse, and so she was startled by the dual sensations of the stingingly cool swipe of witchhazel and the spark of his warm fingers brushing her skin. She turned her head slightly to see Snape's dark head bent close to hers, and he looked up with a challenge in his eyes. Feeling slightly breathless, Hermione looked away until he had finished.  
  
Flustered, Hermione repaired her top and smoothed her hair back into place. 'Thank you,' she said. There was a slight smirk on his face when she looked back at him.  
  
'I have to get back to my rooms,' she said, edging toward the door. 'Minerva said an important letter awaited me there.'  
  
Snape raised a sarcastic eyebrow. 'Yes,' he said, 'I know.' Hermione looked at him in surprise, but he shook his head. 'I wouldn't dream of ruining Albus and Minerva's sub-moronic idea of fun by telling you.' Hermione's eyebrows rose, and she nodded slowly.  
  
'Well,' she said. 'I'll be going then. I'll be brewing your dream potion for this evening in my rooms. Unless you'd like to supervise?' Hermione had been partially teasing, but to her surprise Snape gave a slight shrug and followed her out of the room.  
  
'So,' she said as they strolled down the corridor, searching for a topic of conversation, 'do you have plans for the summer?'  
  
'Albus requires my presence here,' Snape answered with finality. Hermione nodded and frowned to herself- obviously that had been the wrong tactic to use.  
  
'Have you... er, heard from Ailie at all?' she tried again. She had frequently wanted to ask Snape if he had any news of her through their link, but as it was such an invasion of his privacy had never summoned up the courage.  
  
'No,' he answered, his tone somewhat softer. He darted a quick look at Hermione, as if she might take the news badly. 'Her reunion with Wiccan blood may have disturbed our linkage,' he explained, and Hermione nodded. 'In any case, I have not sensed that she has come to any harm. She indicated that I would be able to.'  
  
Hermione gave him a smile, grateful for his uncharacteristic concern. 'It must be a relief to have your head to yourself again,' she said as they reached the door to her rooms.  
  
'In Arcadia Ergo.' The door opened, and they entered. Her eyes immediately lit on two cream-coloured envelopes sitting on the table at the window. She stepped forward to pick them up, noting that the top one was addressed with Dumbledore's familiar green pen.  
  
She opened the other first, which bore her teaching college's crest, and smiled as she read that she had passed her course and would be receiving her certificate. There was a vexing lack of marks to tell her exactly how she had done in her classes, but she pushed the irritation aside as she reached for the Hogwarts letter. A single sheet of paper rested inside, and her mouth dropped open as she read the message written upon it.  
  
'Muggle studies!' she said, looking over at Snape who still stood by the door. 'They want me to teach muggle studies!'  
  
'You can hardly be less qualified than the last wizard to hold that position,' Snape said dryly. Hermione grinned at him.  
  
'Albus and Minerva want me to teach here,' she said, shaking her head. Though it was what she had hoped, she was having trouble believing that Dumbledore was entrusting the position to such an inexperienced teacher. She sank down into a chair. Snape merely raised an eyebrow at her, and she resisted the temptation to stick her tongue out at him.  
  
She read the letter again, a slow smile spreading over her face as it sank in. The smile dimmed somewhat when she remembered that Manuel Hardworthy had mentioned no plans of giving up the position. She looked up at Snape, who had obviously been following her expressions.  
  
'What has happened to Manuel Hardworthy?' she asked, knowing she was unlikely to like the answer.  
  
'According to Albus, he has gone on sabbatical,' Snape answered. The sarcasm in his tone gave lie to the statement.  
  
'So... he has been asked to leave,' Hermione said. There was no mention of the position being temporary, as it would have if Hardworthy really was on sabbatical.  
  
'Well done. It must be a record for a Gryffindor to see through such an amazing piece of obfuscation.'  
  
Hermione ignored his habitual narkiness to stare at the letter. She heard Snape step further into the room, and looked up to see him observing her.  
  
'Miss Granger, much as it pains me to speak ill of a former colleague,' Snape said, 'Manuel Hardworthy would barely know a muggle artefact if it jumped up and down in front of him reciting bawdy limericks. He is, I may say, the most incompetent Muggle Studies teacher it has ever been my displeasure to lay eyes upon, and Albus could hardly have avoided finding a superior replacement for him if he had employed a cardboard box and a piece of string. As it stands, he has chosen to employ a marginally more intelligent being, though I may begin to doubt that opinion if you do not cease to gape at me like a fish.'  
  
Hermione closed her mouth and glared at him. She had merely been going to defend Hardworthy, little as he deserved it. She didn't like the idea that someone had been fired to give her a position, and said so. Snape looked dramatically heavenwards.  
  
'Save me from overly moral Gryffindors,' he muttered, and stood. 'Hardworthy was heading for the door regardless of your need for employment. If you should choose to relinquish your chance at a suitable position kindly find a less juvenile way to justify your cowardice at entering the real world, this one almost makes me ill.' He turned toward the door.  
  
Hermione sputtered, jumping to her feet and glaring at him. 'I am not being childish!' she said. 'I never said I was going to refuse the position. I was just pointing out...' Snape raised an eyebrow at her, and Hermione realised that he had been playing with her. She sighed.  
  
'Of course I'm going to accept the position,' she said, and smiled at him. 'It means I get to annoy you for at least another year.' Snape gave a slight bow in agreement.  
  
'Well, I had better go and thank Albus and Minerva,' Hermione added excitedly, starting for the door. She was halted by Snape's look.  
  
'It may be an idea to actually accept the offer at some time,' he said, and Hermione blushed.  
  
'Of course.' She went back over to the table and found a pen, signing her name to the statement at the bottom of the letter. When she had finished, the parchment disappeared with a puff of smoke. She looked up at Snape with a satisfied expression.  
  
'Now I will go and find them,' she said. 'Do you mind putting off the potion for a short time?' Snape spread his hands, indicating that he did not mind, and Hermione swept past him out of her rooms, bubbling happiness inside her.  
(That's the end of this chapter. The rest is just answers to the reviews, so if you didn't review just scroll down.)  
Thanks: SlytherinQueen87- thanks for reviewing- I forgive you for not reviewing before (you're a much better reviewer than I am!)  
  
saber: the word was 'pagan.' Prefixed with 'ancient'.  
  
mikey: thank you for giving in to evil fanfic to read my story. I am truly honoured. Yes, I am (trying to be) a writer, at the moment of crappy romance. Hey, hopefully it's money.  
  
Marston Chicklet, Vanessa, Mercygurl2003 - thanks for the tea info. I just wanted to check. I know it sounds weird to even ask, but when I travelled around France for two weeks I simply couldn't get a decent cup of tea. I felt like Arthur Dent. So I thought it might be worth checking.  
  
PhoenixFeather7- I'm quite glad to be in the three-figure mark for reviews at all, but thanks for the compliment. To answer your query- I realise that it is a bit iffy, but I had it in my mind that as Hermione sees Snape so much as an entire person, and is the sort of woman who would truly forgive him for his past and logically figure out what kinda guy he really is, she simply has erased the mark from her head in regards to him. The reason she realised it wasn't there was the sudden rolling up of sleeves he did that revealed bare white skin, when her mind was rolling along on Death Eaters anyway- sort of like she normally wouldn't think about it, but her logical mind pointed it out. As logic doesn't really have much to do with the unconscious, which erased the mark for her in the first place, she never saw it.  
  
Matraeia- as always, your review was a nice little ego burst. I'm glad you enjoyed the solstice.  
  
HeavenStone- I know you're disappointed with the lack of promised steam. I'm really sorry. I tried, I thought I could do it, but I just can't get a grip on the whole 'his thrusting manhood entered the cave of her desire' thing. Sorry. **begs and scrapes**  
  
RedStrawberry900- I am muy impressed that you reviewed on both chapters. Thank you. Don't worry about the star thing- I really appreciate that you tried to help in the first place. I am well familiar with England as the Land of Tea. It's like heaven (btw- something to freak you out- you know how bacon in the UK looks all red and meaty? Well, in Australia it's sort of pre-cooked. Freaked the hell out of me when I tried to cook bacon in the UK.)  
  
Uberscully- I'm jealous of you seeing G.A. in a play. She's such a good actress.  
  
kiki-0303- yup, they were having the same dream. Basically sex without the oozey bits.  
  
Goddessnmb1- the sadness Dumbledore and Hermione exhibited was because Snape sipped from the cup by himself when it was his turn, indicating that it was himself he most failed to connect with in the group. But that was a bit obscure in the story, and it's kind of a worn out argument, so don't worry. As for the steamy- I apologise (see the message for HeavenStone)  
  
Angel of the North- I haven't read 'I will come to you in your dreams' but I will now. The meld was sort of a one-off thing.  
  
Sarah, maridale3, Katharina, Luthien Requiem (love your name), Lucinda Malfoy, Alexial, Canadian Weirdo, asprcreme- glad you enjoyed it. 


	34. Wicked witches

Disclaimer: Though I try and I try, I simply cannot create a physical incarnation of Snape that will say he is mine. Ergo, every version of him, including the one trapped in prose, is still JK Rowling's, along with the rest of the Hogwarts cast and crew. The fantasies are mine.  
Chapter Thirty Four  
The next morning, Snape did not appear at breakfast. Knowing he had taken the potion the previous evening, and fearing there had been something wrong with her brewing of it, Hermione sped through her meal and headed for the dungeons straight away.  
  
She found Snape pacing restlessly in the classroom. He looked up at the sound of her entering, and Hermione noticed he looked a little flushed.  
  
'Did the potion work?' she asked. 'There wasn't anything wrong with it, was there?' Snape gave a curt nod, and edged around the desk as Hermione moved further into the room to deposit her notes on a desk.  
  
'So, were there any physical manifestations?' she asked, and Snape nodded again. When he remained silent, she rolled her eyes and made an encouraging motion with her hands.  
  
'Come on, Snape, it's not like you to be recalcitrant. Where are the marks?'  
  
'You have no need to see them,' Snape said, sitting down. Hermione gaped at him.  
  
'I showed you mine,' she blurted. He looked briefly at her.  
  
'Shall we begin?' he asked, indicating the books on the desk. Hermione looked at them, then at him.  
  
'Are you not going to show me the marks?'  
  
'No.' He appeared to rethink the workings of her question, and shook his head. 'Hermione, we have work to do. If you would care to sit down?' Hermione noted that Snape seemed disturbed by her stance as she leant on the desk in front of him. She raised an eyebrow, and pulled up a chair at the side of the desk. Before sitting, she reached across in front of him to retrieve a text, smiling to herself as he cleared his throat.  
  
It was for the duration of the morning that Hermione came to see Snape's reasoning for teasing her the day before. It was quite fun to play with him, to observe how his posture changed directly in relation to hers.  
  
Half-way through the morning, as they sat taking notes, Hermione saw that Snape's hair had fallen from around his collar, revealing his neck. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated it, and she reached out to move the collar aside.  
  
Like lightning, Snape's hand shot up and grasped hers, tight enough to make her wince. He looked up, and his hold loosened slightly. He raised an eyebrow.  
  
'I was just wondering...' Hermione said, wide eyed. She held her breath as Snape's thumb stroked the back of her hand, then he placed her hand back in front of her, on the desk. Hermione stared at it for a moment, feeling somewhat alien to it, before nodding and turning her attention back to her book.  
  
***  
  
After dinner that evening, Hermione dressed to go out on the town with the other female professors. Though she had enjoyed teasing Snape during the day, she was beginning to understand the full meaning of 'tension headache.' The one hour of sleep she had managed to catch during the night had been the one respite she'd had from the physical tension her dream visitor had left her under- though her dreams had only tormented her further.  
  
Sleepiness gave her no relief, either. Her physical exhaustion had subdued her hormones in no way whatsoever. Being near him was like being tied up in the desert next to a nice pool of water, just out of reach. It had been all she could do all day to avoid rubbing up against him and purring like a cat.  
  
It had been a relief to both of them when Hermione had escaped early.  
  
Hermione frowned as she cast a smoothing charm on her hair. Her hand had been burning from his touch all day; even now, she had to rub it to make the tingle go away. She closed her eyes briefly. This was threatening to get the better of her.  
  
Tucking her wand into her pocket, Hermione headed for the door. The witches were meeting in the entrance hall, and she had just a few minutes to go. Snape was safely ensconced in the dungeons, and Hermione resolved to lock her problems away there, too. Tonight was a night to relax and celebrate.  
Later that evening, Minerva McGonagall and Esmerelda Sprout shared a meaningful look. The evening had gone well, so far. The five witches had made their way into Hogsmeade without mishap, and had worked their way from a genteel little restaurant in an alleyway to the Leaky Cauldron. The five of them had walked down the well-trodden road of alcohol consumption- the four older witches leading young Hermione on a path that, by now, she should have recognised.  
  
Drunken confessions.  
  
Sprout leaned over to talk in McGonagall's ear. 'I think Freya has done a good, job, don't you think?'  
  
Minerva nodded. Hooch had been doing the ordering at the Leaky Cauldron, and as a result the witches, suffice it to say, were well provided for. Minerva herself had three glasses lined up before her, while she slowly worked her slightly tipsy way through her fourth drink. Hermione, encouraged firmly by Freya, had had no opportunity to let the drinks pile up as she tried to keep up with the sturdy sports mistress.  
  
'You don't think we're rather ganging up on the girl?' Esmerelda whispered, uncharacteristically moral. Minerva shook her head.  
  
'Of course we are. But she needs to talk about it.' She smiled at Sprout and then nodded at Poppy Pomfrey, who raised her eyebrows, then nudged Hooch. Their unsuspecting victim didn't notice the sudden shift in energies around the table.  
  
Sprout began. 'So... Hermione. Were those lovebites I saw on your neck yesterday?'  
  
Hermione looked around from her contemplation of the decor, eyes wide, and looked around the group. 'No,' she said, shaking her head, 'oh, no.'  
  
'Come on, Hermione. Spill,' Hooch said. Hermione continued to shake her head.  
  
'My dear,' Minerva said, leaning forward to pat her hand. 'You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to. But it will help to talk.'  
  
Hermione squeezed her former teacher's hand gratefully. 'I...' She squinted briefly. 'I have to go to the loo.'  
  
'Well, that's torn it,' Hooch said, as the four waited for Hermione to powder her nose. 'Well done, Minerva.'  
  
'We can't make the poor girl gab about her love life, she's a virgin for the gods' sakes,' Poppy scolded.  
  
'Meanwhile, I go off to the jungles of Africa without knowing the gossip about Severus and Hermione,' Sprout said.  
  
'As though you won't be doing anything gossip-worthy yourself, Esme,' Minerva said. Sprout waved her down.  
  
'I still miss out on the stuff about Severus and Hermione,' Sprout said, finishing off her drink. 'Really, it's like switching off a movie half-way through.'  
  
'Well, we'll owl you,' Poppy said. 'I agree with Minerva. If Hermione doesn't feel ready to talk about it, we shouldn't push her.'  
  
'Drat,' said Hooch, scowling.  
  
'Hush, she's coming back,' Minerva warned.  
  
Hermione resumed her place at the table and blankly looked at the drink Hooch pushed toward her.  
  
'Minerva won't drink it,' the sports mistress encouraged. 'Shame to let it go to waste.' Hermione sighed, and reached for the drink.  
  
***  
  
So unoptomistic of sleep was Snape that evening that his bed could have been a downy cloud for all he cared. The torturous dreams of the evening before were enough to make him both want to give up the act of sleeping permanently, or spend the rest of his life in a coma.  
  
If he had thought the first potion-induced dream, all those months ago, had been bad, he had no words to describe the horrors of the previous evening. After knowing, first-hand, exactly how Hermione lips tasted, how she reacted to a kiss, how fiery and mischievous she could be, and, most of all, exactly what she looked like in very little clothing, his subconscious had dredged up fantasies that had left him, frankly, permanently turned-on. It was only lucky that the male body needed a good blood supply for the rest of the vital organs, or he would be stuck in mid-summer wearing his most concealing robes all day.  
  
Even so, it had been a blessing that Hermione had seen no need to move from their work at the desk in his office today.  
  
As it was, it had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done to refrain from throwing her on the desk and performing a number of acts, which the words 'madly' and 'passionately' would no doubt be most accurately used in describing. She had driven him near madness with her conscious manipulation of the situation all day, though he supposed it was merely justified revenge for the day before. Still, he doubted the girl could possibly know what she had done to him.  
  
The students were gone, and Snape had no real reason to be patrolling the corridors at night, but it was a handy way to work off the excess energy he suddenly found himself burdened with. Mental exhaustion hadn't worked any miracles physically so far.  
  
He stopped and looked out into the clear night. The stone windowsill felt cold against his hands. He had lived in this castle most of his life; had left it only to return again and again. He supposed, if he thought about it, it was his true home; he had spent far more time in Hogwarts than even the various homes his family owned.  
  
Snape sighed, and pressed his forehead to the cool stone. He would one day give his life for this castle, and yet it was not truly his. He wondered when he had given up all ambition to own, to possess, to achieve. Even his body was not his own, anymore.  
  
The moment of weakness passed, and Snape stood straight once more. Dwelling on the past, and the impossibilities of the future, was a luxury for which he had no need. Leaving wistfulness at the window, Snape turned and strode down the corridor.  
  
***  
  
The witches made their slightly unsteady way up the path to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade, their chatter dying down now that the early hours of the morning approached.  
  
Hermione strolled arm in arm with Madam Hooch, more as a precaution against the latter's collapse than as a show of feminine affection. It had been a good evening, once the others had ceased dropping hints and questions on the nature of the relationship between herself and Snape. The potentially uncomfortable situation had faded into the background as the witches took her less-than-subtle hint that she didn't want to discuss it, and the others discussed their plans for the summer and the issues for the following school year. Any doubts she might have had about her reception as a real teacher at the school had been quashed by the way the others had included her in the conversation, as though she truly belonged.  
  
The easy conversation and relaxing evening had given her tired brain a chance to work. It hadn't given her any answers, but at least was leaving her in peace while her subconscious went to the work of processing.  
  
When the five of them reached the doors of the castle, the others sleepily smiled their goodbyes and moved off to their rooms, but left Hermione surprisingly awake.  
  
A sleeping potion. That was the answer. It would give her some rest and, maybe at the same time, give her the ending to all those dreams she'd been having. It wouldn't take that long to brew a simple potion, although she probably didn't have all of the ingredients. An image streaked across her mind of sneaking down to the dungeons. Snape would inevitably wake, and see her there, bent over a mysterious brew. He would come up behind her and-  
  
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image away.  
  
'Def'nitly need some sleep,' she decided, heading for the nearest staircase. There were sleeping draughts in Poppy's store cupboards.  
  
It was only walking out of the infirmary that Hermione realised the potion she'd just taken might react badly to the alcohol in her system. About three seconds later, her theory was proven. Though she had given up her idea of keeping up with Hooch about half-way through the evening, she'd certainly had enough to drink to provoke a reaction, and the straight-up spirits she'd consumed just before they'd left the pub weren't helping any. Scotch, she reflected as the world became even more blurry and began to sway, is not good when followed by a sedative chaser.  
  
Unsteadily, she began to make her way back to her room. A breeze from a window caught her across the face, and felt so refreshing she reflected it might do her good to sit for a while.  
  
She closed her eyes and leant against the wall, images floating through her head. Snape, she reflected lazily. Snape, Snape, Snape. He was the problem. Though it was absurd, her body seemed to have developed some kinky attraction for her former professor. Former, however, was the operative word, she reminded herself. He wasn't her professor any more. In fact, he was her colleague, her equal. She was a teacher now. She smiled dreamily in her half-sleep. If she wanted to, she could go right on down to the dungeons and get him.  
  
The fall of a footstep caught her attention, and Hermione opened her eyes to see the very subject of her thoughts walking down the corridor toward her. Such happy coincidences, she felt, shouldn't be passed up. Squaring her shoulders (and in the process almost falling over) she headed toward him.  
  
***  
  
Snape felt a certain sense of deja vu as he spied Hermione down the corridor. The fates, he felt, obviously despised him. He had known that the four wicked witches were planning to take Hermione out on the town this evening to celebrate her newfound position as Muggle Studies teacher. How uncharacteristically optimistic of him to think there was a chance of walking the corridors, in such circumstances, and not bumping into the woman of his dreams and waking nightmares.  
  
As he watched, she moved away from the wall and walked unsteadily toward him, with a sense of determination that appeared to affirm she had spotted him. With a resigned sigh, he moved to meet her half way, putting out his arms to catch her as she inevitably fell. To his surprise, she smiled broadly up at him, putting her hands on his shoulders confidently for balance. She still wavered slightly, and Snape wasn't entirely displeased to have to keep his hands at her waist as a steadying influence.  
  
'Are you drunk?' he asked her, knowing it was really a rhetorical question. She nodded vigorously, then squeezed her eyes shut and put her hand to her head. 'You're drunk,' Snape concluded. 'Again. Those wicked witches, I expect.' He allowed himself another sigh, wholeheartedly taking on the appearance of put-upon protector. He opened his mouth to suggest he escort her to her rooms but she lifted a finger to his lips, a frown of concentration on her face. She flicked his lower lip a few times before he rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, placing it gently back on his shoulder, a movement which seemed to bring her back on topic.  
  
'I'm a teacher,' she said.  
  
Snape nodded patronisingly. 'Yes,' he said tonelessly. 'I know.'  
  
Hermione grinned. 'I,' she said, 'am very, very...' She blinked, then began again. 'We've been cele- celelebating. I'm a teacher, you know.'  
  
'Yes,' Snape replied with a sigh, wondering if he could manage to walk her to her rooms, or if, again, he was going to have to carry her. Not that he minded terribly the idea of having her small, warm body pressed against his, but his back wasn't what it used to be.  
  
Hermione held up a finger, and waggled it in front of his face.  
  
'I,' she began once more, 'am very, very... very, very, very drunk.' She nodded to herself, then leant forward and kissed him. Her arms crept around his neck, firmly holding him in place for her clumsy kisses.  
  
As her arms were locked around his neck with a strength he wouldn't have imagined possible in her current state, and were apparently immoveable, Snape simply stood unresponsively and waited to Hermione to give up. She pulled back, however, and glared at him.  
  
'No,' she said in a voice that reminded him of her bossy school days, 'not like that.' With a last frown she leant forward again, this time angling her lips to his, curling her fingers through his hair and stroking his neck. Snape felt himself respond without any conscious order from his brain, but as Hermione sighed and leant even closer, he gave a shrug at his body's traitorous behaviour and gave up the struggle, meagre though it had been.  
  
As Hermione's lips parted under his, Snape slid his arms around her waist, wrapping them around her and pulling her closer. He savoured the warmth of her, tasting her deeply and not feeling too guilty about it, as he knew he was probably half-dreaming anyway. Hermione took the opportunity to push him closer to the wall, leaning hard against him. Snape groaned at the certain knowledge that she did, indeed,  
  
fit perfectly against him, pressed into all the most perfect places. He felt Hermione's hands run over him, one hand curled tightly in his hair and pressing his head close to hers, the other running between them and moving over him as though she was making a map. Snape's hands ran down her back with fingers that itched to touch her bare skin, but as he knew exactly how dangerous that would be he settled for resting his hands on the swell of her hips instead, pressing into her and holding her to him.  
  
Stunned by sleepy, drugging kisses, Snape delved to taste her, consume her, feeling more starved for her by the minute. Some part of his brain shook its head and gave him a stern look with the realisation that this situation would be much, much worse from now on. And he couldn't get rid of her; he had actually helped her become a teacher. He didn't mind the irony so terribly at the present moment.  
  
Eventually, Hermione pulled back and looked up at him with a sleepy smile.  
  
'Sorry,' she said, dropping her head on his shoulder and snuggling in until her nose nuzzled his neck. Feeling a little breathless, Snape held her a while, waiting for the dizzy feeling to ease. As it did, the realisation gradually dawned that the woman cradled in his arms wasn't just resting. She was asleep.  
  
'Wunderbar,' Snape muttered, managing to lean down and pick her up without dislodging her arms from around his neck. At least this time he knew the password.  
  
The journey to her rooms was uneventful, though Hermione occasionally shifted or snuggled closer, apparently forgetting she was not in bed. One particular snuffle and wet kiss almost had them down a flight of stairs, her lips having zeroed in on the one spot on Snape's neck guaranteed to turn his legs to jelly.  
  
Finally, the door to Hermione's rooms was gained, and Snape relieved his protesting muscles of his mostly unconscious burden. The unconscious burden, however, seemed to have other ideas, arms as clingy as tentacles wrapped firmly around Snape's neck and giving no appearance of letting go. As he struggled against her death grip, she gave another sigh and moved so his face was again close to hers.  
  
'Kiss you much as I want,' she mumbled, and laid her lips gently on his again. Snape was in such a position as did not benefit from the sudden shift, and his tentative hold on a crouch failed, dropping him to his knees on the floor. He sighed inwardly at the irony.  
  
Hermione's gentle kiss trailed off, and with a small smile of satisfaction she settled back into bed, still clutching Snape like a favourite toy.  
  
Snape almost felt like giving up. The idea of simply sliding into bed next to her and allowing her to hold him for several hours was not a completely repulsive one, given that it was three in the morning, but at the same time he was aware of the utter impossibility of such a solution. Besides, he had never been one for- he grimaced- 'cuddles.'  
  
He took a moment to recover, taking the opportunity to notice where he was. The moonlight from the clear summer's evening streamed in from the window, and Snape wondered how the woman could possibly manage to get any sleep. The light lit up her face, darkening her lashes against her creamy white skin. Snape frowned. Really, he thought, it would be like trying to sleep in the beam from a light house.  
  
Hermione shifted, rolling slightly to the side and letting go of Snape with one hand. Unfortunately, her grip with the other arm did not loosen in the slightest, and her movement brought Snape forward to a position he sincerely, for the sake of his sanity, hoped he would forget. Not that being nearly suffocated by the soft heaven of one breast was entirely unpleasant, but it was not something he wished to remember in the dark nights of his own soul. Thankfully, with another sigh, Hermione let go of him completely, rolling over on to her stomach and snuggling into the covers.  
  
Snape took a few minutes to get over the surreality of the situation before standing. It was probably a warm enough night for her to be quite comfortable sleeping in her clothes without covers, he reflected, and frankly the thought of passing his hands over her to undress her in any way disturbed him greatly. Hermione frowned against the moonlight in her sleep, and Snape settled for striding over to the windows and closing the curtains with a satisfying rush.  
  
He managed to make his way out of the now pitch-black room without harm, and exited Hermione's chambers without mishap. Getting further away from her chambers, however, was another issue, as Minerva McGonagall happened to be peering down the corridor at the precise moment he emerged from Hermione's rooms.  
  
Mentally he slapped his head as his colleague waited patiently for him at the end of the corridor. The Head of Gryffindor wasn't looking inclined to let the matter go.  
  
'So, Severus,' Minerva said, looking him over. Snape resisted the urge to smoothe his undoubtedly messy hair- it was, after all, three a.m.  
  
'So, Minerva,' he replied, beginning to walk down the main hall. McGonagall followed him.  
  
'Helping our new colleague back to her rooms?' she asked, more than a trace of laughter in her voice.  
  
'Indeed,' Snape said. 'Perhaps if you four witches had not got her so drunk in the first place...'  
  
She chuckled at his suggestion, and Snape rolled his eyes in the comfort of darkness. A suspicion was forming in his mind.  
  
'I see you didn't refrain from indulging yourself,' he concluded, looking at his rather befuddled colleague. 'Please don't tell me I have to help you safely back to your rooms also.'  
  
Minerva smiled at him. 'Severus,' she said, 'if only I got the sort of help you just gave Hermione more often, I'd be a happy woman.' She chuckled again, and Snape shook his head in disgust. If she was sober enough to be making such atrocious jokes, she was sober enough to stagger back to her rooms alone.  
  
Taking time only to point his colleague in the rough direction of her rooms, Snape turned his footsteps toward his own. He may not be able to get himself some sleep, he concluded, but at least the fumes of his workroom would force the scent of a sleepy Hermione from his nostrils. 


	35. The path of cinders

Chapter Thirty-Five  
  
Disclaimer: I was nowhere near the grassy knoll, I don't know who stole cookies from the cookie jar, the kid is not my son, schmaltz, schmaltz, schmaltz. J.K. owns Hogwarts and all her residents, I only own the sick ideas. Furthermore, everything in this story is fictional: any resemblance to any person, situation, etc, is completely unintentional. This is not how the world or indeed anything works; it's just the ramblings of a sick and twisted mind.  
  
The next morning, there were several very sore heads in Hogwarts castle. Snape, having concluded that Hermione would probably remember the events of the evening as a drunken dream, if at all, had decided the best remedy for his own mind was to get thoroughly plastered himself in the hope his brain would provide him with the same explanation. It hadn't fully worked, but at least the roaring headache he woke up with took his mind off the whole thing.  
  
Sprout, who was beginning her journey by broomstick that afternoon, had knocked tentatively at his door at around ten that morning to beg him for a hangover relief potion. Refusing to take one himself, Snape had taken great pleasure in denying her one and almost cheerily accompanying her to breakfast to ensure she had a sufficient amount of orange juice to replace the vitamins she had lost, the next best thing. If he happened to be in a good mood by afternoon, he would give her the potion as a parting present.  
  
The two of them had arrived to find the rest of the previous evening's group already seated for breakfast, and looking rather worse for it. Snape was too tired to avoid admitting to himself that he was pleased to have to sit next to Hermione.  
  
Around half-way through the meal, a small, fluttery owl twittered into the room, chirping loudly. A vague recollection of the creature struck Snape, but quickly made its faltering way over to Hermione, making a crash landing in her eggs. He saw her face light up in a smile.  
  
'Pig!' Hermione reached forward and picked up the bird, petting it and cooing at it while the diminutive owl shook off the remains of her breakfast. For the first time in his life, Snape found himself jealous of a bird.  
  
Once the owl had cleaned up, Hermione removed the small scroll attached to its leg and unrolled it.  
  
'It's from Ron,' she smiled, 'although I think I see Ginny's hand behind this.'  
  
'How are the two of them doing, dear?' asked McGonagall, leaning past Hooch to speak.  
  
'Fine. Ron's inviting me to their flat next weekend. I think he and Ginny have something planned for my birthday.'  
  
'Oh, that's nice. Will Harry be there?'  
  
Snape frowned. The word 'birthday' disturbed him. One of the many things he attempted to avoid thinking about was how old he must have been when Hermione Granger had been kicking her way into the world. It made him feel like even more of a lecher.  
  
'I'm sure he will. He and Ron always manage to figure something out for my birthdays, although I'm sure Ginny must have been the one to remind them. They usually leave it until about a week after.'  
  
Hooch turned to ask Hermione something else about her letter, but at that moment Snape's hearing shut down as Hermione shifted position. Not only did the movement send a maddening waft of her perfume his way, but, apparently forgetting where she was, her thigh came to rest against his. It took him a few seconds to figure this out, of course, as his brain provided twenty other solutions for the warm, soft presence against his leg, but he couldn't avoid the conclusion in the end.  
  
Snape closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his forehead. Now he understood the whole idea of the Victorians' obsession with ankles. It wouldn't have occurred to him before to think that one simple stretch of thigh could bring his system to a complete halt, but her thigh was so warm and soft resting against him that it made him dizzy. And that was disregarding the purely electrical sensation of having her so near anyway. It was ludicrous.  
  
'Snape, are you okay?' A concerned question from the woman at his side and another shift that took the distraction away, and Snape was able to look up again.  
  
'Fine,' he said curtly. 'I take it, Miss Granger, that you are in no condition to work efficiently today, after your indulgences last night.' A light snort from Minerva's direction made him look sharply down the table, but he dismissed the provocation. 'I propose, then-'  
  
'No need to propose anything,' Hermione replied, with a grin. 'I will be fine to work today. You're right; this work is too important to put on hold because of momentary and avoidable illness. Shall we begin?'  
  
Snape inclined his head, and they both rose. His eyebrow quirked ironically as they exited the great hall. If only he had known Miss Granger would be this easy to control after a bout of alcohol poisoning, he would have refrained from breaking up all those Gryffindor parties years ago.  
  
As they walked down the corridor, Hermione grimaced and touched her head. Snape looked at her.  
  
'You realise, Miss Granger, that you do have the means for making hangover relief potion at your disposal? If it will assist your input for today's research I'm certain I can refrain from my usual comments on weakness and inability to handle alcohol, much as it may cost me,' he said, his wry tone eliciting a small smile from his companion.  
  
'Thank you for your offer, but I'm afraid I can't take one,' Hermione said. 'I took a sleeping potion in my confused state last night, and forgot the effect it can have on top of alcohol. I really shouldn't take anything else-'  
  
She broke off to stare at Snape, who had stopped and was staring at her in alarm.  
  
'You did what last night?' he asked.  
  
Hermione looked at her feet, obviously chagrined. 'I know. It was stupid. All I can remember is feeling very tired and very awake when we got in last night-'  
  
'Come. You need to go to the infirmary,' Snape said, grasping her by the arm and moving toward the sick room. His charge, however, seemed to have other ideas, and resisted.  
  
'Snape, really, I'm okay. Poppy will have gone back to bed and anyway I don't need it. I admit it was a stupid thing to do, but I'm certainly paying the consequences for it this morning.'  
  
Snape turned on her. 'Don't be a fool. I found you last night, evidently after you had ingested the potion, but I assumed you were blind drunk and put you in your rooms. If anything had happened to you, it would have been my responsibility.'  
  
Hermione looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. 'I'm sorry, I didn't realise,' she said, giving his arm a squeeze. 'Thank you for taking care of me. And for not making fun of me,' she added with a smile. 'But it is my fault entirely, not yours. Even a fourth-year potions student knows not to mix potions and alcohol.' She sighed, and steered him back on track for the dungeons. 'I'm fine. If I hadn't been so exhausted from lack of sleep in the first place I would have been more responsible.'  
  
Snape frowned. 'Why did you not sleep? he asked, then caught the wry look Hermione shot him. Ah, he thought with a tingle of satisfaction. Evidently he wasn't the only one losing sleep over certain dreams. 'Yet another of my responsibilities,' he muttered as he followed her down the corridor.  
  
He frowned as they descended into the relative darkness of the dungeon stairs. He should have recognised the effects of a badly-mixed sedative, but he had been so preoccupied with taking advantage of the state she was in he hadn't spared a thought as to why she was in it.  
  
Once they were down in the close, cold confines of the dungeons, it took only ten minutes of watching her wince for Snape to give in. Lavender oil was a natural cure for headaches and migraines, and also soothed other body aches. He naturally had a good supply of it in his stores, and it would take about two minutes out of his time to massage some of the oil into her temples for her. Sanity was overrated anyway.  
  
Resignedly, he walked into the stores cupboard and retrieved a small bottle of the oil, coming to stand in front of Hermione, who was rubbing her temples with her fingers. He paused a second, then inwardly shrugged and reached forward to take her hands away.  
***  
  
Hermione watched in stunned silence as Snape poured some of the oil on to his fingers and began to massage it into her temples. If someone had told her Snape's reaction to her hangover would be caring and sympathetic, she would have laughed until she fell over. If anything, she had been grateful when he hadn't given her hell over it this morning, had been touched by his concern over her mistake with the sleeping potion, and had almost melted when she found out he'd all but put her to bed last night, which meant that the incredibly passionate 'dream' she'd thought she'd had was quite possibly reality. But 'melted' didn't even compare to the feeling she had now, as his fingers smoothed warm oil over her skin-this time she was actually sober enough to experience it.  
  
Best of all, it was actually getting rid of her headache.  
  
She let her eyes drift shut with a small moan as the potions master's graceful fingers worked the lavender oil into her skin. This wasn't exactly the same as crawling into his arms and attacking him with passionate kisses, but it was almost as good. She knew she should be upset or embarrassed by her behaviour the night before, what she could remember of it, but she was just to damned sleepy to care. If Snape was going to be gentleman enough to not mention it, then she could keep the memory of his taste and tongue without embarrassment. By the time his fingers finally left her skin, all she could do was sigh.  
  
Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes and blinked. 'Thank you.'  
  
'We will get no work done if you cannot concentrate because you are ill,' Snape said curtly, turning away. 'Today, we will work outside.'  
  
Hermione's mouth was open in shock, but she quickly closed it. 'Are you sure I'm not the only one who's ill?'  
  
'We need to survey Sprout's stock of plants anyway,' Snape said, gathering a couple of books and moving to stand at the door. Seeing that Hermione was still watching him in amazement, he raised an eyebrow and said, 'Despite popular rumour, Miss Granger, I am capable of appearing in sunlight without burning to ashes.' Hermione inclined her head in acceptance of the offer, and followed Snape out of the room, still slightly in shock.  
***  
McGonagall walked away from her balcony with a frown. If she hadn't known better, she could have sworn she'd just seen Severus Snape and Hermione Granger strolling together in the sunshine by the lake. Of course, it was difficult to tell, with the angle at which she had to lean out over the balcony to squint over at the lake- all a part of her daily exercise routine, of course, which had nothing to do with the fact that she had spied the two of them heading down the lawn together in a lakewards direction and had raced to her rooms to see if she was right. Because Minerva McGonagall would never have jumped to the conclusion that her two colleagues heading down to one of the designated romantic spots in the castle grounds meant some sort of understanding between them. And she certainly wasn't craning precariously over her balcony in the hope that she would be able to catch a glimpse of their first-  
  
'Minerva McGonagall! What are you doing, trying to kill yourself?' a shrill voice startled her off her perch, and it was only by the quick actions of the voice's owner that she was prevented from tumbling over the stones to the grass and rock garden below. Minerva looked down. Her rooms were in the north tower; the grass was far, far below.  
  
Patting her hair, Minerva turned around and met the reproving gaze of Poppy Pomfrey.  
  
'I know you are a cat, Minerva, but a plunge down several storeys onto a rock garden cannot be your idea of fun,' Poppy said.  
  
'I was gathering information,' McGonagall said huffily, still a bit startled. She moved over to the table set up on her balcony and gratefully took her seat.  
  
'On what? How much of a splat you would make when tumbling down the side of the castle?'  
  
Minerva glared at her colleague. 'If you're going to continue in that tone, Poppy, I will not tell you what I just saw.' She reached forward and poured herself some tea. 'Even if it does concern Severus and Hermione,' she added.  
  
Her companion immediately became all attentiveness, pulling out a seat for herself. 'All right. You have my attention. What did you see to do with Severus and Hermione?'  
  
'What's with Severus and Hermione?' asked a voice from the open balcony door. Both women looked up to see Madam Hooch and Professor Sprout climbing out onto the balcony.  
  
Esmerelda Sprout gave Hooch a wry look. 'Do you need to ask? I thought we'd sorted out that they've got the hots for each other.' Hooch rolled her eyes and moved toward the table.  
  
'Minerva just saw them doing something,' Poppy explained as the two newcomers took their seats. Minerva ignored their curious looks as she primly poured out tea for them all.  
  
'Okay, Minerva, out with it,' Hooch said, staring at the transfigurations professor, who merely sat back and sipped her tea, a look of feigned innocence on her face.  
  
Sprout glared at her. 'Stop dragging it out, Min. You always were such a drama queen.'  
  
McGonagall shrugged and gave in. 'Well, I was just walking up the north corridor on the way to my rooms, and I glimpsed the two of them walking over the lawn. You'll never guess where they were heading.' Poppy raised her eyebrows, but the other two looked markedly unimpressed.  
  
'The lake,' Hooch said, reaching forward for a biscuit. McGonagall frowned.  
  
'We passed them on the way up here,' Sprout explained, a note of apology in her voice. 'And I wouldn't get too excited- they were deep in a conversation about funguses when we passed them.'  
  
'Fungi,' Poppy corrected. Sprout narrowed her eyes at her.  
  
'I'm on holiday.'  
  
Minerva ignored the teasing. 'It is possible that they will change topic once they get down to the lake,' she suggested. 'Such a romantic setting, on a sunny day...'  
  
Hooch snorted. 'Romantic like a sewer,' she said. 'I've never understood why the students favour it as a spot for trysts. Smells of fish. And sunshine isn't exactly an encouragement to get down and dirty, either, not when you're in view of the entire castle.'  
  
Minerva glared at her. 'I wasn't thinking along those lines, Freya. You do have a one track mind. I was just hoping they would have time to... talk. Especially after last night.' Like a shot, the gazes of the other three women snapped up to Minerva's face, and she smiled. 'Oh, didn't I tell you? I caught Severus exiting Hermione's rooms last night, about an hour after we all got home. With his clothes rumpled. And a smile on his face.'  
  
'Are you sure you weren't hallucinating? I've only ever seen Severus smile when he's been torturing someone,' Poppy said.  
  
'Well, he's never got laid before,' Hooch added with a grin, 'not since we've all known him at least. Maybe he smiles then too.'  
  
'I've known Severus Snape since he was sixteen, Freya, thank you very much,' said Sprout, 'and he doesn't smile when he's just got laid.' Hooch raised her eyebrows suggestively, and Sprout sighed. 'Don't ask me how I knew that. And no, it wasn't me.'  
  
'So Severus was in Hermione's rooms...' Poppy said.  
  
The other women sat back in contemplation.  
  
'They have had a lot of time to talk in the dungeons,' Sprout said, thoughtfully.  
  
'All that time, alone in the dark, nothing to interrupt them as they get to know each other...' Hooch said.  
  
'Knowing the two of them, they would have done nothing but work,' Poppy answered, with a frown. 'I'm sorry to disappoint you all, but I can't see last night meaning what you all think it means. Hermione had alcohol in her system, for a start- you know how sensitive Severus is to that sort of thing. He would have considered it taking advantage of her.'  
  
'Not like he hasn't done it before...' Sprout began, then caught Minerva's glare. 'I know, I know, that wasn't fair. So he wouldn't have taken advantage of her.'  
  
'Not when he knew we'd all been out together,' Minerva said, nodding her head slowly. 'No, I'm afraid Poppy's right. They're no closer together today than they were weeks ago.'  
  
'Being outside together, though- that's a good sign,' Hooch suggested. The others nodded. Silence settled over them as they each contemplated their own thoughts,  
  
'I just wish they'd damn well get together!' Poppy exploded, making the other three jump.  
  
'Well, I don't,' Sprout said, standing. 'Not until I get back in a few weeks, anyway. And on that note, I'd better be off.' The others stood also, and the topic of Hermione and Severus was forgotten in a flurry of goodbyes. Hooch set off with the traveller to see her off, leaving Poppy and Minerva contemplating their tea.  
  
'I really do wish there was something we could do to hurry Severus along,' Minerva said, staring out at the cerulean sky. Poppy merely furrowed her brow thoughtfully.  
***  
Hermione stood in the moonlight at her window. She was taking a few moments to process the events of the day, something she desperately needed to do after the extremely odd day she had just had.  
  
The thoughtful little massage Snape had given her that morning had removed the signs of her hangover almost completely, the feeling of his fingers having stunned the headache out of her more than anything else. It had remained stunned away for the remainder of the day, as the two of them walked around the Hogwarts grounds discussing their research so far on the project.  
  
Following them around, however, was a feeling of... uneasiness. Hermione really couldn't pin down the feeling until it was almost lunch time, and they had headed back toward the looming castle. As they entered its doors, she had realised what it was: everything about the morning outside had simply felt wrong. She knew that Snape was trying to be considerate, but that was the problem. Considerate and Snape simply didn't gel. Neither did sunshine and Snape. Strolling and Snape. Sensitive and Snape. There were a number of 's' words that went very well with Snape, but those definitely did not. He didn't seem to be comfortable with them either, explaining the unusually plastic way he had acted all morning.  
  
Which was why she had grabbed Snape's arm as he had headed for the hall for lunch (socialising and Snape...) and had steered him toward the dungeons, voicing the concern that all the sunshine had gone to his head and he had forgotten that they had work to do. She had even threatened him with the term 'social butterfly.'  
  
The dungeons had, thankfully, dispersed all the strangeness of the morning, and brought out some 's' words Hermione definitely liked when it came to Snape. Sneering and Snape. Sinister and Snape. Even, when she had practiced her own particular method of driving him mad, almost seductive and Snape (but alas not quite, she sighed inwardly).  
  
The day had taken a new turn when a visitor had appeared at the door an hour before dinner. Hermione hadn't even noticed the new presence until a pair of hands had blocked her vision and a gravelly voice had whispered, 'Guess who?' Unfortunately, Snape had made an exit from the store room at the precise moment Hermione had turned around to hug Sirius Black, who was on a brief visit to Dumbledore for the afternoon. Sirius's reaction had been his usual enthusiastic returned hug: Snape's had been a frosty glare that had turned the rather mild atmosphere in the dungeons to a bitter cold.  
  
After a short conversation with Sirius, who explained he would be back in a week or so to finish his talks with Dumbledore and would see her at dinner anyway, the two researchers had again been left alone in the dungeons, the atmosphere somewhat more tense than that before their visitor. A rigid silence on Snape's part had begun to irk Hermione, particularly when it began to interfere with the working atmosphere that had tentatively developed between the two of them. It had given her time to ponder over what had happened the night before. If she really had attacked and passionately kissed him, as she thought she had, then why in the seven hells hadn't the man mentioned it? Though her memory was foggy, she didn't remember him resisting too much. Surely he wasn't pretending today that he hadn't liked it? The thought stirred Hermione's irritation even more.  
  
Eventually she had brushed her hands of her work, informed Snape calmly that he could use the potion to lubricate the pole he was sitting on if it would make the look on his face go away, and went up to dinner.  
  
She'd got to the stairs leading from the dungeon before he'd called her back. Needless to say, he had not taken the comment well. His lecture on proper respect had only irritated her more and the argument had ended with her throwing her hands up in the air and storming away.  
  
All in all, it had been quite satisfying. Shouting and Snape was a strangely gratifying situation. Silent Snape, without the essential touch of sinister Snape, was just no fun. He was just Snape giving someone the silent treatment.  
  
Fighting with Snape had been a rather soothing ending to a troubled day, Hermione thought as she ran her hand over the cool stone of her windowsill. Enjoying those more difficult aspects of Snape may have made her a masochist, but it also made her comfortable. In the wizard world, she had quickly learnt to be uncomfortable when people were behaving against their natures; after all, it was generally what the Dark asked people to do for power. Besides, after all these years, she doubted she could cope with a Snape that was able to walk in the sun without burning to ashes.  
  
She always had liked vampires.  
  
With a sigh, she walked over to her bed and began to undress, frowning slightly as she did so. Things became so very complicated around Snape. As far as she could see, there were only a few ways to deal with him, and there was definitely one that stood out from the others. She just hoped it was the right one for her.  
  
Because Hermione had made a decision, and it was one that made being around a kind, considerate Severus Snape all the harder.  
  
She walked over to her desk and sat, taking out a quill and parchment. It had taken her a long time to realise what she wanted to do, but now that she had, it felt like a huge pressure pressing down on her had been blown away. There was a certain sort of calm, even though there was at least as much nervousness. She was sure, however, that she had made the right decision.  
  
Nodding her head firmly, she began to write. Like every other aspect of her life, this new decision needed research.  
***  
The weekend preceding her birthday, the date for her visit with Harry, Ron and Ginny, arrived quite soon for a impatient and grateful Hermione. As the weekend of her visit approached, she had noticed Snape becoming more and more distant, with something strange in his glance at her, and this made her want to leave even more. The announcement that Sirius Black would be making a visit to Hogwarts to help Dumbledore with some strategising didn't help any; Snape had watched Hermione very carefully whenever the topic of his schoolyard foe came up, making her even more self-conscious. The visit was a blessing, all things considered, she thought as she walked down the path to Hogsmeade, the impression of a very quiet Snape sitting in the dungeon of her mind.  
  
She arrived at Ron and Ginny's at the precise time they had requested, and received the hugs of her friends with a smile. Harry and Ron did their usual bit of jeering at how old she was getting, and Ginny presented her with a very thoughtful present that the boys had obviously had no part in choosing, unless they had suddenly developed a taste in eighteenth century romance poetry and hair clips.  
  
The four of them then moved on to a restaurant where Hermione picked at her food, and a nightclub where she watched the other three dance away until the wee hours of the morning. Though she did her best to put on a display of enjoyment, she couldn't put aside her impatience to have the evening over. She needed, for the first time in her life, to have a heart to heart with Ginny.  
  
Finally, they headed back to the flat, sitting drinking and chatting until the boys went to bed. Ginny, who seemed to have sensed that a girly chat was on the cards, had been most helpful in ensuring the boys time in slumberland.  
  
This left the two girls sitting on the lounge room floor, a bottle of tequila between them and the light from a single lamp and a few glowing candles giving the room an intimate feel which didn't help Hermione one bit. She bit her lip, sensing Ginny sitting with almost predatorial attention across from her.  
  
'Ginny, if I tell you something, will you promise not to talk about it with anyone?' she asked. 'No matter how... weird it is,' she added as Ginny raised her eyebrows, 'and that means no hinting to the boys that you know something that they don't, or smiling secretively, or...'  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. 'Hermione, I know I may look like a bit of a ditz, but trust me: as the only daughter in my family there's no way I would have survived if I couldn't keep things to myself.'  
  
Hermione nodded. 'Okay. Sorry. It's just, well, this is really...' Words failed her. Now that she was actually trying to tell someone about it all, it really did sound too strange to believe.  
  
Ginny reached over and poured them out each a shot of tequila, encouraging Hermione to drink and patting her on the back as she coughed at the harsh spirits.  
  
'Now, let me make this easier for you,' Ginny said solemnly. 'You're a lesbian, aren't you?'  
  
Hermione's eyes widened, and she coughed harder. 'What? No! Why?'  
  
Her friend put her hand over her mouth and giggled. 'Sorry. It wasn't like I thought you were coming on to me or anything. It's just that I've had this conversation with a few of my friends lately. I thought I'd make it a bit easier for you. I know how hard it can be to come out of the closet. You know, you haven't really had any boyfriends, at least not at school...' She spread her hands and shrugged. 'Sorry. You were saying?'  
  
Hermione frowned. 'Actually, I guess what I want to talk about kind of has something to do with that. The no-boyfriend thing.' Ginny nodded encouragingly, and Hermione took a deep breath. This was more difficult than she had imagined - at least the other witches had forced the admission out of her.  
  
'Well,' she began. 'There's this guy. And I sort of - like him.'  
  
'Ooh,' Ginny said, rubbing her hands together. 'Great. Who is he? How long have you been together? Come on, I want all the goss.'  
  
'It's not like that,' Hermione said, panicking. 'I don't *like* like him. I just, sort of, like him.'  
  
The girl across from her looked at her quizzically. 'Uh-huh. So what's the deal?'  
  
Hermione frowned in thought for a second, trying to think of how to put it. 'I'm really attracted to him. I can't stop thinking about him, or not just him, but his voice, or his hands. It's so *frustrating.*' She clenched her hands briefly, and looked up to see Ginny grinning at her.  
  
'Don't know the feeling at all,' Ginny said.  
  
'Neither do I,' Hermione muttered wryly. Ginny gave her a confused look.  
  
'So have you done anything about it?'  
  
'Not exactly.' Hermione looked down. She supposed they had, but at the same time they hadn't. 'It's complicated.'  
  
'Well, you're helpful,' Ginny said. 'Does he know or not?'  
  
Even that question had its own complications. 'I - I don't know. He- well, I guess I did, too - we kissed.'  
  
'Then he knows. A kiss is a pretty good indicator.'  
  
'But he can't know!' Frustration got the better of her. 'He can't possibly know what he's been putting me through! For the whole school year- all year we've been circling around each other - although some times it feels like it's just me circling him - ugh!'  
  
Ginny's eyes lit up. 'He's at school? A student? You naughty girl.'  
  
Hermione looked at Ginny in surprise. 'I would never behave so inappropriately with a student.'  
  
Ginny waved her hand. 'Sorry. Again. Okay, so he's not a student. Hmm. You're not making this easy. One of the professors at your college?'  
  
'Uh...' Hermione bit her lip. 'Not at *college*, no.' Ginny's eyes narrowed.  
  
'Who, then? Someone in Hogsmeade?'  
  
Hermione sighed. Obviously, this was not meant to be easy. 'No. Professor Snape. Severus Snape. From Hogwarts.' She waited for the furious shout of surprise, but none came. When she looked over at Ginny, she was surprised to see the other girl nodding her head slowly.  
  
'That makes sense. He's a bit dark and brooding, but he's certainly intelligent enough to catch your interest.'  
  
Hermione gaped. 'You're not completely disgusted?'  
  
Ginny shook her head. 'Not at all. In fact, I sort of had a thing for Snape when I was going through one of my dark periods at school. I used to fantasise that I'd tied him up to a table and tortured him with feathers and silk and strategic use of whips until he-' Ginny caught Hermione's shocked look, and shrugged. 'Well, you know how it was. That wasn't half as bad as what I used to think about Lucius Malfoy.'  
  
Hermione stared at her friend for a few moments, then sighed. 'I know that I'm going to think better of this, but my curiosity has got the better of me. What, exactly, with Lucius Malfoy...?'  
  
'Pretty much the same thing, only I'd planned to get him to the point of breaking and leave him there, enormously frustrated.'  
  
Hermione closed her eyes to blot out that image, and Ginny continued. 'So, you and Professor Snape? Have you done anything else other than kiss him?'  
  
'Yes. No. Sort of... it's complicated,' Hermione said, squeezing her eyes even more tightly closed as she realised how much she was rambling. 'He gave me love bites on my neck, and I think I scratched him-'  
  
'While you were kissing?'  
  
'No, that was earlier. These were from the dreams-although I suppose I can't talk about that,' Hermione mused. 'It's sort of classified.'  
  
Ginny raised an eyebrow. 'You and Snape dream about each other and it's been classified? What the hell are you doing in those dreams?'  
  
Reaching out to play with her shot glass, Hermione grinned. 'Lots.' Ginny grinned back.  
  
'So you've kissed, and he's somehow given you a love bite or two. What's next?'  
  
'I want to sleep with him.' Hermione said it with determination. Ginny raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly. 'I need help.' Ginny gave her a mischievous look, and Hermione's lips quirked. 'Not in that way. I need advice.'  
  
Her companion nodded again and poured them out each another shot. 'What do you need to know?'  
  
Picking up her drink and sipping this time, Hermione thought for a moment. 'I need to seduce him. I don't know how.'  
  
'Hmm,' Ginny said, downing her drink. 'Seduction's pretty easy, really. Just a case of wearing the right skirt, sending the right signals. Get him into a corner and then just leap on him.'  
  
'Gin, I don't think that would work with Severus Snape, do you?' Hermione looked at the younger girl satirically.  
  
'Why not?' Ginny asked. 'He's human, isn't he?' Hermione shook her head.  
  
'It isn't that simple. If I start making moves on him he's likely to call me a silly little girl and send me away. He has a habit of doing that.'  
  
Ginny frowned. 'Well, that makes it difficult. How about dinner?'  
  
Hermione looked at her. 'We eat in the great hall, remember?'  
  
'Ah.' Ginny narrowed her eyes in thought. 'It doesn't prevent you from asking him out to dinner, though?'  
  
'No...' Hermione said, hesitantly. 'Actually, he might even do that if I asked. But it would feel wrong. He's not... a 'dating' person. I can't imagine he'd want to parade his personal life in that way. I'm not sure *I'd* want to. It could just make things more awkward.'  
  
'Ah. You want straight seduction.'  
  
Hermione nodded. She couldn't have put it better herself.  
  
'Well,' Ginny began, shifting position, 'there are plenty of ways to seduce someone. It really depends on the person, and how much they want to be seduced. Escalating looks and touches, a drink after work, some quiet time together. Maybe you could get the house elves to prepare a meal for the two of you in your rooms- I hear the private rooms in Hogwarts are pretty swanky.'  
  
'I'm not sure he'd go for that,' Hermione said. 'I could organise some research in my rooms, though...' She caught Ginny's eye, and they both giggled.  
  
'This is insane,' Ginny said. 'Here are Hermione and Ginny, plotting how to lose Hermione's virginity to Professor Snape.' That set them both off again.  
  
'Here's to me having sex with Snape,' Hermione said, raising her glass. This made Ginny fall over, giggling. Hermione shook her head at her friend, knowing that they were probably a little too inebriated to seriously discuss the issue. With a shrug, she helped Ginny up and the two retired for the night, making bad puns until they fell asleep.  
***  
Not too terribly far away, a small, dark meeting was breaking up. Snape finished washing his hands in the stone sink of the room he had been kept in for the last seven hours, and exited out to the apparating ground. Tomorrow was Sunday; perhaps even Lucifer could have a day of rest. 


	36. god's away on business

Chapter Thirty-Six  
  
God's away on business  
  
A/N: This chapter talks about suicide quite a bit. If you're feeling a bit depressed yourself, don't think you like hearing about suicide, or feel you're a bit too young to be thinking about such things, please move on to the next chapter (you won't miss much).  
  
Snape sat with the note dangling from his hand. It wasn't a fresh one (he'd given up on that sort of thing long ago) but it was one of his favourites.  
  
It was a suicide note.  
  
From his early to his mid-twenties, Snape had indulged his young self with the idea that this world could be left behind, that a simple flick of the wrist or a simply brewed poison would rid him of all his problems. In even deeper despair he had heroically decided that the world- here he quirked a wry smile- would be better off without him.  
  
Time and again, he had let the knife lay on the table, had poured whatever brew he had concocted down the drain. Deep down, deeper than the whims he allowed himself, he knew that suicide was simply not an option. It was the easiest option, and therefore not for him.  
  
This realisation had delayed him from corpsehood. Each time, he had cleaned up the mess, neatly filed the note away in a folder, and sat to watch the darkness until the dawn. By the time he had turned twenty-five, when Voldemort had been defeated by a mother's love in a pathetically ironic way, he'd had quite a little stack of notes in a private little folder by his bed, there any time he wanted to remind himself what a pitiful human being he truly was.  
  
This one was the best. It consisted of four words, slashed into paper already stained with tears and mucus and nervous sweat. While the others had been effusive, eloquent and at times poetic, this one stated in four simple words the cause of his entire problem:  
  
I'm not that strong.  
  
Snape looked at it and laughed. It was perfect. A work of art.  
  
He leant down and picked up his snifter of brandy, swirling it as his father had taught him to do long ago, and taking an uncultured gulp from the glass. It made his throat burn, so he took another gulp. At least it meant he was feeling something.  
  
There had been periods, off and on, in his life that the sharp pain he had felt from whatever source at the time had led him to hurt himself. He had done it first at sixteen, when, shrinking from his original plan to slash his wrists, he had used the knife to cut at the palm of his left hand. It had hurt in such a wonderful way. There hadn't been a dramatic fall of his blood into the white sink, but the pain had been enough to calm him.  
  
He had used this fascinating method to cope whenever he felt the need. The depression in his teenage years had never quite reached that point again where he wished to take his life, but he had still found it necessary to augment the mental anguish from time to time. After the first few times, when he had been careless and clumsy in his excuses for his cuts, he had learnt to heal the wounds magically before another person could question them. Not as satisfying as bearing the marks of self- punishment and loathing, but much, much safer for one who guarded his personal trials.  
  
Later, when thoughts of self-assassination took up more and more of his time, his pathetic bloodlettings only made him despise himself more. It was an interesting circle- one that had, one time, almost led to a gracious release when he had cut too deep. Dumbledore had found him in the bathroom of his rooms when he hadn't turned up to teach class. All he could remember was how nice it had felt to lie there in limbo, the blood still feeling warm against his skin, and feeling bitterly disappointed when he woke up in a hospital bed. Of course, part of that bitterness was directed at himself for almost achieving so ignominious a demise. He had been young enough to want to explain himself back then.  
  
Snape rubbed the rough paper between his thumb and finger. These suicide notes had saved him. If he really had wanted to leave the world so completely behind, there were a thousand easy ways he could have done it. It was the time he had taken to carefully explain himself, excuse his actions to the rest of the world that had stopped him. Seeing in stark black and white his real excuse for doing it. Seeing it was no excuse at all.  
  
Hundreds of these pointless exercises in self-pity had led to the crystallised knowledge that he could not simply leave everything behind. He had done bad things; he had to try and make up for them. It was saccharine, it was overly dramatic, it was even, he cringed to think it, Gryffindorish, but it was the way things worked. He paid. Another thing his father had taught him.  
  
In his life, he had committed many fairly foul acts, many of them while performing his role as a spy. Tonight he had taught seven young people how to make a water-borne poison by making a batch large enough to poison the water supply of the entire North of England. It wasn't the worst thing he had ever done, but it was enough.  
  
The brandy glinted redly in the light of the candelabra. It was always when one wanted to get drunk, Snape reflected, that alcohol had its least effect. He had done as much as he dared to ruin the poison, figured out a strategy to lessen its effects, but young children and infants would be less resistant to the altered potion. He swirled the brandy and took a sip, letting the liquid fume in his mouth. This was an old brandy- far too refined a brand to be simply gulped down by the bowlful.  
  
They had tested the poison before he left. It had worked. He had done what he could.  
  
It was the way things worked.  
  
Lullaby  
  
Sun is red; moon is cracked,  
  
Daddy's never coming back,  
  
Nothing's ever yours to keep,  
  
Close your eyes, go to sleep.  
  
If I die before you wake,  
  
Don't you cry and don't you weep,  
  
Nothing's ever as it seems  
  
Climb the ladder to your dreams  
  
If I die before you wake,  
  
Don't you cry, don't you weep,  
  
Nothing's ever yours to keep,  
  
Close your eyes, go to sleep.  
  
-Tom Waits 


	37. when we dance angels will run and hide t...

Chapter Thirty Seven When we dance angels will run and hide their wings  
  
A/N: I have finally posted. As you can see, I have also posted a great amount. Why, you may ask, did you not just post this colossal heap in bits instead of keeping us waiting and slightly bored while you saved the whole lot up? Weeell, you will probably understand as you read through. All I have to say is this: though you may be frustrated with me, please think of the Snape-and-Hermione relationship as a really big fish on a very thin line. In order to get it to land, I had to pull it in very gently. No, I can't believe I just used a fishing metaphor, either. Read, and thank you for your patience.  
  
PS. For those of you frustrated by the not-yet-getting-togetherness of this story, I threaten you with the suggested ending put forth by my partner:  
  
Then Minerva killed Hermione by turning her intestines into a frog. Filled with self-disgust at what she had just done, Minerva realised that the only way she could cleanse her soul was to kill Snape too; so she did. It was a particularly nasty death, one that I would love to describe in detail because it was very, very slow and very, very painful. I will say no more other than that it involved hedgehogs. "This needs a nice clean ending" thought Minerva, so she killed David Duchovny as well.  
  
The End.  
  
Hermione cracked her eyes open groggily, taking in the unwelcome sight of one Ginny Weasley, outlined by the midday sun peeping in around the curtains, mouth open and snoring slightly. Hermione rolled over, staring up at the ceiling. There was a certain feeling about mornings like this, waking up in a strange room. It was like she wanted to crawl inside herself in these unfamiliar surroundings, to assure herself she was still there, inside.  
  
Slowly, she began checking herself for ill-effects from the night before. Her feet felt mildly uncomfortable, a result of the high-heels she'd worn for about eight hours straight, and she had a few strained muscles, but otherwise she felt quite fine. The strangest thing of all was the fact that she and Ginny had laid out several plans for her to seduce their ex-Potions Master.  
  
A slow smile spread across her face. Now that she had a handle on the situation, she felt more at ease. A slow seduction, she felt, was the best way. Snape was not the sort of person to be startled into something. Her hand itched for a piece of paper upon which to plan.  
  
The small groan from the next bed alerted Hermione to Ginny's imminent wakefulness only a moment before a redheaded pixie face intruded on her vision.  
  
'Hi,' Ginny said chirpily. 'Breakfast?' Hermione nodded with a sigh, grateful that her morning wasn't being intruded on by a painful hangover. Ginny was, she knew, one of those annoying people who never got them; it seemed her training in mediwitching was also turning her into a morning person. Although, considering the time was actually twelve noon, she could be momentarily forgiven of that crime.  
  
Making the joint decision that coffee was first priority on a morning such as this, the two girls shuffled through the lounge room into the sun- filled kitchen. As they stood in the tiny kitchen preparing coffee, Ginny turned to Hermione.  
  
'I was thinking,' she said with a contemplative frown. 'I know you wanted help planning out this seduction thing, but as your friend I think it's my duty to tell you a few things about the more... practical side. I'm guessing you did your best to ignore Lavender and Parvarti as much as you could at school?'  
  
'Correct,' Hermione said, pouring the coffee grounds into the machine. This one was a little different to the muggle ones her parents had had over the years, but the coffee went in basically the same place.  
  
'Well, that's probably a good thing,' Ginny continued. 'Those two wouldn't have known reality if it came and wiped its arse on their dresses. Uh, no offense, but your mum probably didn't tell you much, either...?'  
  
Hermione frowned. 'She told me enough. I know the basics, Gin. If you're worried about me getting pregnant or something-'  
  
Ginny waved her down. 'No, no, it's not that at all. The thing is,' she said, 'I just wanted to make sure you knew a few choice tidbits I would've killed to know when I first started having sex. Not the practical stuff.' Hermione inclined her head for her friend to continue, curious as to what she should want to know. She had researched this project pretty thoroughly, both when she was growing and recently. Besides, it was a little embarrassing to have a girl a year younger, and her best friend's baby sister no less, tell her what to do.  
  
'First, don't expect the first time to be absolutely wonderful, physically,' Ginny warned. 'Your body's not used to it, so don't worry if it puts up a few complaints or if extreme fireworks don't happen. It took me a few times before I really, really enjoyed sex, but it's good if it's someone you like a lot.' Hermione frowned. This sounded roughly like the advice in some of the books she had read. She didn't have time to ponder, however, as Ginny apparently misinterpreted her frown.  
  
'I didn't mean it wouldn't be fun,' she hastened to explain. 'I just wanted to warn you it isn't like in romance novels- you know, the heroine orgasms the first time.' Here, both girls blushed slightly. All this girl talk was new to their usually friendly but not terribly close friendship.  
  
'You should know I don't read romances, Gin,' Hermione teased, breaking the moment of unease.  
  
'Well,' Ginny said, turning to tend to the coffee. 'Another thing is to not be afraid to tell him what you want. You might feel a little shy, and it's easy to let that stop you from having a good time.' Hermione pursed her lips and nodded. Ginny caught her eye and grinned. 'Hey, I just wanted you to know you have someone to talk to, you know, if you need to.' Hermione smiled back, and impulsively gave Ginny a hug.  
  
'Hey, you guys aren't going to get together, are you? Because that would be weird but also kind of cool.' The comment came from the doorway, and both girls turned to see a dishevelled-looking Harry standing in his pyjamas.  
  
'Harry, you have been spending way too much time with Sirius,' Hermione said as she pulled away to pour the coffee.  
  
'Better me than some other people I can think of,' Harry said pointedly. Hermione sent a frown his way as a puzzled expression crept over Ginny's face. She could sense the question before it was asked.  
  
'What do you mean, Har-'  
  
'I don't really think it's my place to say,' Harry interrupted, with a broad grin at Hermione. Ginny's interested gaze moved in her direction also. Mentally, Hermione threw her head into her hands. Harry was in a teasing mood, and that mood rarely went past without something embarrassing happening. She tried sending him a death glare anyway, but it met with a twinkle to rival Dumbledore's. Harry rubbed his knuckles on his shirt and looked at them.  
  
'I mean,' he continued, 'some things are just better explained by the source. Don't you think, *Hermione*?' Hermione shook her head and paid attention to the coffee, but noted the sudden movement Ginny made toward the doorway. She turned when Harry let out a yelp, and saw that Ginny had Harry's ear in a firm grip and was twisting it.  
  
'Now you either tell me what you meant by that comment Harry Potter or you say goodbye to your ear,' Ginny threatened. Harry grinned again in Hermione's direction, then grimaced again.  
  
'You know you really sound like your mother, Gin- ow! Okay, okay. After all, it wasn't my fault I walked in on Hermione and Sirius snog-'  
  
'What?!?' The question came out as an excited screech as Ginny dropped Harry and turned on Hermione. 'You snogged Sirius as well?'  
  
Hermione watched the semantics of the sentence flitter through Harry's mind by the expressions on his face.  
  
'As well as what?' he eventually asked. Ginny looked panicked for a moment, and tried to cover, making Hermione grimace even more. The only way to get someone even more interested in a piece of gossip was to say that it was nothing, which was precisely what Ginny was trying to do. She said the first thing that came to her mind.  
  
'As well as Ron. I snogged Ron when we were at Hogwarts. Ginny was really surprised.'  
  
'No I wasn't,' Ginny said. 'Ron told me about that about three weeks after it happened.'  
  
'Yeah, he told me too,' Harry said with a shrug. 'It's old news, 'Mione. But, really, way to ruin my appetite for breakfast.'  
  
Hermione felt spots of anger rising in her cheeks, and was happy that Ron chose that moment to trundle through the lounge room.  
  
'Ronald Weasley! How many people did you tell?' Striding across the room, she pushed her hapless friend onto the couch and began attacking him with a pillow under the amused gaze of his friend and sister, her ire only half-feigned.  
  
***  
  
It was still sunny as Hermione walked from Hogsmeade down the path to Hogwarts. The talks with Ginny had given her a few good ideas, but most importantly time away from the looming castle had given her well-honed brain a time to rest and cogitate.  
  
Flicking her wand at the abundant grass growing on the side of the trail, Hermione frowned. As far as she could see, her problems lay thus: she wanted to bed Snape, he almost certainly wanted to bed her, and standing in their way was their mutual innate shyness, the absence of physical intimacy in their day-to-day interactive history, and his scruples about he, an ex-Death Eater and spy, bedding a quite-recently-ex-student of his who was relatively innocent and quite a bit younger than he.  
  
Hermione nodded sternly to herself. The first of the issues on the list she considered negligible; it would only take one of them overcoming their shyness for that problem to be got out of the way, and, though she was naturally nervous about the subject, Hermione Granger was no coward. Overcoming inner fears was what Gryffindors were famous for, anyway.  
  
The second problem was a little more hard to tackle, and probably the one that presented the most difficulty when it came down to things. Though Hermione had no doubt the third problem she had defined would have caused some difficulties if she intended to give Snape time to think about it, men were not famed for their thinking capabilities when their blood (she blushed) was engaged elsewhere. No, Snape would hopefully have little time to think- it was something she was avoiding doing herself, when it came to this exercise.  
  
Physical intimacy, physical intimacy. Hermione mulled it over as she stepped over a fallen branch on the path. It would seem strange to Snape if she suddenly began fawning over him, but at the same time she didn't believe she could simply jump on him, as Ginny had suggested. How were these things done with other people, she wondered? Ginny had told her a few tales of her own experience, but those had mostly been achieved with alcohol. If Hermione knew Snape, and she did in some respects, alcohol would have the opposite effect to what she intended. She needed a way to create a congenial atmosphere where, hopefully, one thing would lead to another.  
  
She frowned. Of course, they had had some physical intimacy in the past. So far it included two kisses, or series of kisses, a massage and one bitten ear. Hermione smiled thoughtfully. Considering the occasions in question, she really was slightly mad. The relationship between her and Snape so far would make most women want to turn and run the other way- her most hated teacher, who constantly bullied and belittled her without apology, did his best to make her life hell and occasionally physically attacked her. This sort of situation turned her on. Apparently.  
  
It was interesting finding out all these new things.  
  
Feeling an inexplicable burst of excitement, Hermione raced off down the path.  
  
***  
  
Snape eyed Fawkes surlily. Despite the various life-saving encounters he had had with the bird, he just couldn't bring himself to like it. If Dumbledore had been looking for a more sickeningly friendly and pathetically heroic familiar he couldn't have done better if he'd stolen Skippy the Bush Kangaroo. It was a walking cliche. Really the perfect pet for an old man whose only request of the universe was that it provide him with an adequate supply of interesting socks.  
  
Under his eye, the dratted bird began to preen itself, using its beak to smooth out its magnificent feathers to more advantage. It was in the prime period of its cycle, and looked quite beautiful, drat the thing. After it finished preening, it glanced at its less-than-vivacious companion and began to sing, quite smugly to Snape's ears. He did the only thing he could, and glared at it.  
  
Fawkes intercepted his glare unperturbed, trilled extra loud and turned its back on him.  
  
A clattering came from the room next door and Snape sat up straighter. It wouldn't do his image much good if word got out he was unable to stare even an overgrown pigeon down. Besides, Dumbledore was under the mistaken impression that Snape's feelings toward the bird would be less-than-murderous after the amount of times it had saved his life.  
  
'Here you are, old friend,' the old man said, re-entering the room and placing a tea tray on the desk. Snape accepted a cup, sipping it and wincing at its sweetness. For some reason, sugary tea was supposed to make him feel 'better.' He caught a worried glance from the headmaster and took another sip to please him.  
  
'Two barrels of it,' he said, holding the cup on his knee for its warmth. 'To be distributed in two major water supplies. I wasn't told specifics, but it should be easy enough to guess.' Across the desk, Dumbledore nodded, and Snape continued. 'I managed to contaminate the solution. They believe the potion is especially fragile, and will assume it has been spoiled if mass deaths do not occur. The young and weak will have less resistance to even the contaminated potion, however.'  
  
'Is there a way to nullify the potion completely?' Dumbledore asked, steepling his fingers.  
  
'No. It contains hartshorn. We can only hope to weaken the effects.' Dumbledore nodded slowly. Magical forms of hartshorn were a powerful palpatative device, causing the heart to beat too fast. Snape watched as Dumbledore thought over the effects of such a potion.  
  
'The effects with replicate the bodily symptoms of terror,' Snape confirmed. 'In its most powerful form, the victim will experience a gradual increase in feelings of terror until their heart simply stops. It has the added dramatic effect of making veins burst- victims will look as though they have been beaten. Voldemort is fascinated with dramatic effect these days.'  
  
'I will inform the ministry,' Dumbledore said. 'We may need to get the muggle authorities involved in this, although I doubt the honourable minister will concede that point easily. If I recall correctly, hartshorn is one of the main foods of hinkypinks. Perhaps our answer lies there. Have you any idea how soon the poisoning will take place?'  
  
'Not soon,' Snape said. 'One week, perhaps two. I was asked to show my... students the correct way to store the solution. I am certain they will store it incorrectly- their ambition will lead them to sabotage one another. If they store it for two weeks, the effects will be less. But I doubt they plan to hold off for that long.'  
  
Dumbledore nodded again, and rose. 'Thank you, my friend. I will keep you informed.' Snape inclined his head in thanks and left the room.  
  
***  
  
What to do next? Hermione wondered. She supposed the next move was reconnaissance. She had never considered what it would take to seduce Severus Snape before; it would be worthwhile doing a bit of research into what he reacted to.  
  
In front of her, the giant squid made a leisurely turn in the lake, causing the formerly placid water to ripple and swirl. Apparently satisfied with the result, the squid turned and dove down once more, its tentacles taking a few seconds to disappear under the surface. Hermione smiled at the sudden beating of her heart. Even after nine years' acquaintance with the creature it was still able to frighten her. *And the squid was still pretty scary, too,* she thought, then closed her eyes and groaned. She had obviously spent too much time with Ron over the weekend- she was channelling his horrible sense of humour.  
  
'Come, now, Hermione. It can't be that bad.' A shadow fell over her and Hermione looked up.  
  
'Sirius, you know you should never sneak up on a wizard.'  
  
Sirius plopped down on the grass next to her, grinning. 'Good thing you're a witch, then. Besides, I could have been leading a marching band for all the notice you were taking. Finding the squid fascinating?'  
  
Hermione smiled. 'Just thinking.' Sirius contemplated her, and she looked away, feeling heat come to her cheeks. She had never reacted well to being stared at. 'What?' she asked, finally. He merely smiled, and shook his head.  
  
'How was your weekend with the gang?' he asked, after a moment.  
  
'Great, although I'm not sure Harry and Ron would say the same thing today. They were both going to have a quiet lie down when I left.'  
  
'And Ginny?'  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Haven't you heard of her famous constitution? I think she was going to go out jogging after I left.'  
  
'You know,' Sirius said, throwing a stick into the pond, 'people who don't get hangovers really sicken me.' Hermione laughed.  
  
'Also, I think your Godson has been displaying traits that weren't inherited genetically,' she continued. Sirius gave her a confused look, and she sighed. 'He's been picking things up from you,' she explained. 'Last night he wolf whistled at a woman on the street. Twice.'  
  
'That's my boy,' Sirius grinned. Hermione smiled and shook her head.  
  
'He was such a sweet boy before you got your hands on him,' she teased. 'You know I love you, Sirius, but really-'  
  
'You love me?' he asked, raising an eyebrow. Hitting him on the arm, she continued.  
  
'-*but* one of you in the world is enough.'  
  
'Harry will grow out of it. And he's nothing like me; wolf whistling alone would have been a slow day when I was his age.' He leered. Hermione gave him her best glare, but it didn't work.  
  
They sat back and enjoyed the late afternoon sun for a while.  
  
'So,' Sirius eventually said, still looking at the lake, 'what exactly were you thinking about, here all by yourself?'  
  
'None of your business,' Hermione replied. Sirius nodded sagely.  
  
'You know, a certain potions master has been quite surly this weekend, even more than usual. When Trelawney began to tell everyone about her trip to London on Friday night he was quite brutal, or so I've been told.'  
  
Hermione inwardly groaned. 'You've been talking to Minerva, haven't you.' It was a rhetorical question.  
  
'Oh, you know, just catching up. She told me about a very interesting hallucination she had one night after all you girls had been out drinking.' Hermione frowned at him, puzzled, and he raised his eyebrows. 'A certain member of staff emerging from the rooms of another rather new and, if I may say so, attractive young member of staff? Looking a little bit dishevelled? Hmm?'  
  
This time, Hermione did groan, and put her head into her hands. She'd had no idea that particular event had been witnessed- after all, she had barely remembered it herself.  
  
'That wasn't what it looked like,' she said. 'It was only those kisses. And don't get angry at him- it was me who kissed him, not the other way around. I'd mixed a potion with alcohol and thought it would be amusing to attack him. He got me back to my rooms after I passed out...' Hermione saw Sirius's eyebrows go up during her speech, and gave him a curious look as she finished speaking. 'What?'  
  
Sirius cleared his throat delicately. 'Minerva only saw Snape coming *out* of your rooms. She didn't see anything that occurred before you went into them.' Hermione again felt the heat of a blush creeping up her cheeks, and Sirius began laughing heartily.  
  
'Sirius Black, if you so much as whisper a word of this to anyone-'  
  
Sirius held up a hand. 'I wouldn't dream of besmirching your honour,' he said, adding quietly, 'Of course, if someone bites my ear to get the information out of me...' This set him off again, laughing so hard he fell over sideways on to the grass as Hermione put her head into her hands again.  
  
'There's never a chance of keeping something quiet in this damned castle,' she cursed as her companion's laughter began to calm down.  
  
'I'm sorry Hermione,' Sirius said, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. 'It's just not very often I get to see you this embarrassed. Even when you were all much younger it was always Harry and Ron who were the children- you've always been such a serious little thing.'  
  
Hermione sighed. 'I suppose I'm just not used to this... whole thing,' she said. 'It's so much easier for the others. You know, last night I was watching Ginny, having fun in the crowd. It made me feel old.'  
  
Sirius's expression sobered slightly, and he nodded. 'I remember having this conversation with Remus, in our youth,' he said, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees and looking out onto the pond. 'One day, just before we all graduated from this fine establishment, Remus and I were taking a hike through the forest, and he said something to that effect. I didn't see what he meant until... until after Azkaban. I believe it's called maturity, Hermione. It makes you aware of your responsibilities.' He gave her a sideways glance. 'I think you've always realised it, more than the boys. You think about the world, and since you came here you've had the added worry of what you will probably have to do in your life. I used to see it in Harry, too, though thankfully he's a normal healthy young man and is able to forget reality once in a while. Being stuck here-' he indicated the castle- 'means you can't forget about it. You think too much.'  
  
Hermione tilted her head to the side, watching as a bird settled on the surface of the water. 'How can I not think about it all?' she asked quietly. 'I've never been able to figure out how the others manage to turn it off. How they can just wander around, not interpreting what they do, not analysing what happens. I know that sounds silly,' she said, looking down bashfully.  
  
'Yes, it does,' Sirius said, making her look up, startled. He smiled. 'To someone like me. I had maturity thrust upon me, Hermione, and I fight like blazes against it. My brain doesn't work like yours. I can't imagine thinking the way you do, but then again, I can't imagine the way you do full stop. And I'm not half as smart as you either. Your brain works the way it does because it's yours.' Hermione gave a half-hearted smile at that, and the two watched as the bird continued to flitter over the surface of the lake.  
  
After a moment, the squid surfaced, and ate it.  
  
Sirius stood and offered Hermione his arm.  
  
'You know,' he said as they turned toward the castle for dinner, 'It's not like you're alone in the way you think. I've known others who over-think the way you do.' He looked significantly at the castle, and Hermione rolled her eyes.  
  
'You know, you really aren't the most subtle of men, Sirius.'  
  
'Ah, but who was declaring their undying love for me not half an hour ago, hmm?'  
  
'You really are too much, Sirius.' Hermione shook her head at him as they entered the sanctuary of the castle. 'And I never used the word 'undying.''  
  
***  
  
Later that evening, as the staff gathered in the staff room for after dinner drinks, Hermione suddenly felt Snape's absence. By all accounts he hadn't made an appearance the entire weekend, and after having him on her thoughts for the last forty-eight hours solid she felt a sudden need to see him. Besides, one thing she knew about Snape was that a weekend without appearances in public probably had been spent in work. She didn't want him to get ahead of her in the research. Smiling a goodbye to Sirius, she headed for the dungeons with a light step.  
  
On later reflection, Hermione realised that the single torch burning in the potions room was a sign that Snape desired no company. The door she lightly knocked at was also very firmly closed, something which Snape himself pointed out was not precisely an open invitation to whomever happened by for a visit. Snape's expression as he threw back the door was not exactly encouraging either, especially in the instant he realised she wasn't Dumbledore.  
  
Blithely she walked into the room and began investigating the piles of books sitting on his desk. Snape remained at the door.  
  
'What do you want, Hermione?' The sentence was full of crossed arms and finally warned her of his mood.  
  
'I... was just wondering how you've gone with the research this weekend,' she asked.  
  
Maybe she could have asked a question which would have irritated him less. She wasn't certain. His retort was short, to the point, and could have melted the paint from the walls if there had been any. She made an attempt at turning the conversation back on track.  
  
'Hinkypinks,' she said, looking at the books on the desk. A surprising number of them were on the small magical creatures. She raised her eyebrows and looked over at Snape, who immediately snapped several of the books shut.  
  
'Miss Granger, if you have nothing of substance to ask me, I would remind you that not everything in this universe is your domain and to keep your nose,' he said with a last snap, 'out.' The last word was intended not only for the desired state for her nose, but for her whole person, as he indicated with a glare and a pointing finger.  
  
Hermione wisely exited.  
  
The next morning Snape was not at breakfast. Dumbledore indicated to Hermione with a few murmured words that the potions master had not had the best of possible weekends, from which information she deduced that he had been to another meeting. She still couldn't figure out the sudden lust for knowledge of hinkypinks, but at least it explained his current state of mind.  
  
What inspired her to think she could cheer him out of his mood, she didn't know. She went down to the kitchens and procured a pot of coffee and some dry toast. In calmer times, she was able to decide that presuming that he would in any way appreciate that particular type of pampering was her third mistake since she had returned from her weekend.  
  
***  
  
Sirius reflected that when he had been a student at Hogwarts he had never spent more time in the Headmaster's office than he did these days. He never would have suspected as a boy that the nutty but sometimes frightening headmaster would one day find anything he had to say of any use whatsoever, let alone sit and take notes while he was saying it.  
  
The man in question was not, in fact, personally taking notes of course, but watching as a brightly coloured quill took them for him. As Sirius watched, the old man nodded and the quill blotted itself on a scrap of nearby paper, and lay itself down.  
  
'I believe that will be all for this morning,' Dumbledore said, adding a twinkle for effect over his spectacles. 'Minerva has informed me that if I do not allow you to attend lunch this afternoon there will be serious consequences. It seems she and Poppy were disappointed you hadn't more free time on the weekend.' Sirius shared a smile with the headmaster. Since he had got out of Azkaban and had been visiting Hogwarts frequently, the Head of Gryffindor had been resuming her duties over the former Gryffindor inmate.  
  
The two men were heading down to the entrance hall to meet Minerva and Poppy for lunch when a sudden sound from a corridor near the hall startled them. They rounded the corner to the growing sound of raised voices. Dumbledore caught the eye of Minerva McGonagall, who stepped forward to investigate, Poppy following behind her.  
  
Sirius grinned at hearing a baritone bellow. 'I'd recognise that voice any time. The number of times I've had a stand-up argument with Severus Snape...' He frowned. 'It's not like him to raise his voice these days, though,' he added.  
  
McGonagall and Dumbledore shared an amused look, and Poppy bit back a chuckle.  
  
'You obviously haven't spent much time with him in the last year, then,' she said with a twinkle, and giggled at Minerva. Sirius shot them all a puzzled look, but was unable to enquire as the shouting got louder and the shouters themselves appeared far down the corridor.  
  
'I never told you to mix that bezoar into that potion!' Snape's usually silken tones reverberated down the hallway.  
  
'You know you did! You were just distracted by Malfoy-'  
  
'I AM NEVER DISTRACTED IN CLASS!'  
  
'*By Malfoy* who was preening as usual! You never noticed that I-'  
  
'Your lack of intelligence in-'  
  
A very sharp, very loud slap punctuated Hermione's next point, and efficiently ended the argument. The four watchers looked on as she turned neatly on her heel and exited down a side corridor, and Snape, hand to his face, shook his head and, completely unaware of his audience, headed after her.  
  
The four at the other end of the corridor stood silently for a few moments.  
  
'Well,' said Sirius.  
  
'I doubt you could have summed it up more eloquently, my dear boy,' Poppy murmured, moving toward the great hall.  
  
'"Dear boy,"' Sirius muttered disgustedly, following her. The headmaster remained, staring down the corridor, with the headmistress beside him. McGonagall shook her head.  
  
'The two of them seem to be making no progress whatsoever,' she complained.  
  
'Really?' asked the headmaster.  
  
'I really wish you wouldn't twinkle like that at me, it makes me feel dizzy,' Minerva scolded. 'Besides, they're moving backwards, if anything.'  
  
Albus twinkled harder. 'I'm sure they are, Minerva. By the way, did you note that he went after her?'  
  
Minerva glared at him as he turned around and walked toward the great hall.  
  
'You really are annoyingly smug sometimes, Albus,' she said.  
  
***  
  
Hermione reflected that the situation was all too familiar as she paced furiously in her chambers. Pacing furiously after conversations with Snape was something that, this past weekend, she had envisioned leaving behind her, but alas, no.  
  
With a small scream she stopped in her tracks, turned to the laboratory in her living room and began throwing random ingredients into an inexpensive cauldron. It immediately began to bubble and hiss, and she watched on with satisfaction. This was certainly more satisfying than pacing.  
  
A loud rap sounded at her door, followed by a curt, 'Hermione!' and Hermione's frown increased. Luckily, the cauldron chose that moment to explode, loudly, and she was relieved of the task of having to answer. The extraordinary bang of the explosion was even more satisfying, despite the mess and the apparent alarm it caused to the man outside the door.  
  
It was some minutes before Snape finally desisted knocking, minutes Hermione felt were well spent in pulling faces at the door and assuring her angry wards remained in place. When Snape finally went away, quite a lot of the anger burning in Hermione from the argument had subsisted, and the rest had burnt out in the amusement of having panicked him with the cauldron's explosion.  
  
As she turned and cleaned up the mess made by her cauldron, Hermione reflected with amazement that it had only been a few days before that she had actually contemplated giving her virginity to the man. Looking back on it now, it was the craziest of schemes. The potions master obviously considered her as no more than a pestful ex-student, a hindrance he had the most utter misfortune to be loaded with by the headmaster- he had said as much in the last hour. No, not said, *insinuated*, Hermione reflected, slamming a cloth into the ruined cauldron. The man never said anything outright.  
  
And she had considered sleeping with him. Hah! He probably wouldn't know how to set a woman on fire in anything but the most literal sense. Even then, warmth was an alien thing to him. She didn't know why his breath steamed.  
  
She had actually considered *seducing* the damned misanthropic bastard. Hah again. Better luck trying to seduce the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. (She thought about that for a moment, and grimaced. She had heard some nasty rumours in the school.) She had actually considered teasing him about having kissed her the week before, when she was drunk. Teasing him, as if he had been too gentlemanly to mention it. As if. He probably had forgotten it- no, repressed it: never having had a remotely human moment in his life, his fragile psyche had pushed the unwanted moment into the depths of his subconscious, where he wouldn't have to be disturbed by it. Hermione snarled, and scrubbed harder at a spot on the wall.  
  
A tentative knock sounded at her door, and, grimly, Hermione turned and strode toward it. If he had the balls to knock at her door again, she was damned well going to answer it. She waved away the wards and wrenched the wooden door open, anger gearing her mouth to full speed.  
  
'And next time you have research that includes erotic dreams about me, be bloody well open about it!' she yelled to Snape's general height, and then, seeing empty air, looked down slightly. '--Minerva.'  
  
The transfiguration mistress looked at her with the type of raised- eyebrow surprise only elderly Scottish women can achieve.  
  
'I can promise you I will, dear child. But that was not the purpose of my visit. I heard a commotion in the entranceway before and was wondering if you were all right?'  
  
Hermione vainly fought down a rising blush and nodded. 'Perfectly fine. Thank you, Minerva.'  
  
The headmistress nodded and began to turn away. She turned back for a moment, looking as though she wanted to add something, but changed her mind and, with another nod, turned down the corridor.  
  
Hermione closed the door, leant back against it, and sighed.  
  
***  
  
The resounding silence between the potions and muggle studies teachers that would have been so satisfying to them both was not allowed to continue past dinner. This was because of Dumbledore and an innocent request, which was of a conspicuously handy nature and which was a surprise to no-one.  
  
'Severus, I believe I have come up with a method of applying psychic power to your current experiment,' the headmaster announced after dinner as he popped into the dungeons. 'If you will summon Miss Granger...' he suggested.  
  
'She is no doubt busy with Black,' came the curt reply. Snape continued to look at his work which, unfortunately, was clearly an already- corrected student essay. The headmaster waited politely for Snape to give in and look up, and then raised his eyebrows.  
  
'Oh, I believe Miss Granger would be only too happy to give up any social plans for such important work as this,' he suggested. Snape sighed, dug out a torn piece of parchment, wrote a message on it, folded it, walked laboriously over to the fireplace, threw in a pinch of powder, sighed, and called out 'Granger,' throwing the parchment through the flames. Dumbledore smiled at the performance. He had never seen Put-Upon-But-Devoted-Servant acted so well since he had seen his teenaged nephew asked to clean his room some years before.  
  
Mere minutes passed before Hermione, slightly puffed, appeared in the doorway. She glared at Snape, smiled at the headmaster, and went over to a side-cupboard to retrieve several small cauldrons.  
  
Dumbledore was interested to note, as both his teachers set to work, that Hermione took the time to reply to Snape's abruptly-scribbled message. A well-placed writing spell landed on the corrected student essay and scribbled out her displeasure at being so rudely summoned, most of which Dumbledore was able to read before Snape snatched the paper away. She spelt 'conflagration' correctly, he was pleased to see, and so few young people these days took the trouble to respond properly to written correspondence.  
  
The evening progressed in relative calm, or at least silence.  
  
The next day worked better for Dumbledore's plans. The work of the evening before had progressed so well that his two professors needed his assistance for only the morning of the next day, by which time their mutual passion for their work had overcome, or at least made them temporarily forget, their differences. An excited Snape (well, excited for Snape; he forgot to glower as much as usual) appeared at Dumbledore's door for further advice on concentrating psychic powers, explaining that Miss Granger was currently making up several experimental batches of potion for them to work with.  
  
It was evening the next day before the two had an experimental technique progressed to a sufficient point for a full trial. In order to avoid any complications, the test subject- Hermione, in this case- had to fall asleep unaided by potions, which meant a night-time test. It was for this, and other reasons that the two refused Dumbledore's offer of help, citing also the impossibility of outside help with a potion that was currently attuned to only two subjects.  
  
Dumbledore left them on the evening of that day perfectly assured of his own, if not their, experiment's outcome.  
  
***  
  
Hermione fought through the clouds of sleep, now familiar with the effects of the dream potion. Some part of her scientist's brain prompted her to note every illusion, analyse every feeling, but it made her so tired...  
  
She was in a room, sitting on a chair, with only her nightgown on. The room was dark and filled with shadows. Two great windows, as tall as the room itself, opened into the moonlight, forming the only two spots of light. Great velvet curtains, a deep blood red, billowed from the windows, snapping and waving, but there was no wind.  
  
She sat in the chair for some time, unmoving, watching the curtains snap. The chair faced the far wall, with the windows on her right, and watching the curtains was like watching waves in a Noh play.  
  
Snape stepped into the dream.  
  
The curtain blocked his view of her for a moment, then snapped back, billowing over her once more like the arms of sleep. Snape thought she looked so beautiful there, entranced by the waves of the curtains, obviously unaware of his presence in her dream.  
  
He felt an impulse to touch her, and suddenly found himself standing by her chair, startling both of them. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but let the moment pass. This experiment was about exploring the possibilities of dream, after all. They had to observe and to play.  
  
'Stand up,' he said.  
  
'Stand up.' She heard the command in her head, and looked up with fear at the man standing beside her. Did he really dislike her so much? Fear shivered down her spine, but she did as he commanded. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm down. She was trying to be rational, but her senses were clogged by the dream. Snape was standing so close to her that she could feel the warmth of his body.  
  
She took a moment to contemplate him. In her other dreams, her dream- Snape had been about feeling, not about seeing. She had sensed, rather than seen him, as was the way with dreams. In this dream, his presence was as tangible as in reality, and as overwhelming. She tilted her head and contemplated him. It wasn't often that she got to see him this close.  
  
Without knowing how she did it, suddenly her hand rested on his cheek. Her eyes widened. It was slow motion, but so fast that she couldn't see it.  
  
'It's like being underwater,' she said.  
  
Snape saw her fear soften, and felt something unwillingly melt in him. His arms found their way around her and he frowned in surprise. It seemed he didn't need to even think of an action before he did it. Somehow, the action changed from something questionable to something perfectly natural and proper: they were dancing, the feeling of it bringing back formal parties in his youth. Some part of his brain still whispered that he would use any excuse to explain his bad behaviour. He couldn't quite push it away.  
  
Hermione moved uneasily in the strange dance, her fear tangible now. She looked up to see the impassive face of Snape swiftly reveal a flash of anger, startling her. She cringed away as he seemed to transform, hate filling his face. She began to panic.  
  
Snape felt Hermione change, and looked down to see her cringing away from him. Startled, he stepped back, backing away as she began to whimper and struggle. Only then did he notice she was still being held by some dark figure, one that wasn't letting her go. Concerned, he stepped forward to pull the two apart, but the slamming of fear and revulsion coming from the two of them pushed him to the edge of the room. He watched, alarmed, for a few moments before he remembered the escape button he and Dumbledore had developed for him to get out of the dream.  
  
He was hurtled back into reality with a jolt, and blinked slowly as he looked around his office. The clinging folds of the dream swiftly dispersed. Hermione- she would still be in the dream, unaware that it was no longer being controlled. He headed for the door, wondering at the arrogance that had led them to decide the experiment could be conducted from their separate rooms- it had never occurred to either of them that the volatile potion could create a dangerous situation.  
  
The moments taken with racing upstairs to her rooms were filled with scientific self-recrimination. He got to her door and thanked whatever gods might have been watching that the extra wards she had thrown up after their fight the other day had been removed, and only her password was required for access.  
  
He stormed through the living room and into the bedroom, where the figure on the bed made small sounds of protest in her dream. Snapping on the lights with a click of his fingers, Snape strode over to the bed and shook the struggling girl awake.  
  
'Hermione, wake up,' he commanded, but the sound of his voice evidently frightened the girl further. Snape frowned at his own stupidity- she was having a nightmare about him and he came in and commanded she awoke. He shook her again, more gently this time, and made soothing sounds as she woke up, curled up like a small child. He pulled her into his arms as the dream dissipated.  
  
Her fear made its way out in shivers as she clutched at his coat. He refused to think what his dream self had inflicted on her in the time it had taken to wake her; her grip on him was like a vice of fear. He was at a loss. Though he had been around many terrified people before, it had never fallen to him to actually calm them down. A memory flashed of Molly Weasley comforting one of her brood in Dumbledore's office after some foolish escapade, and he tentatively began to stroke her hair. It seemed to work.  
  
They sat in this strange tableau for some time, tensions slowly shifting until Snape became aware that the positions of comforter and comforted had somehow shifted. Without his notice, her arms had ceased their terrified hold and had crept around him as he sat tense and worried over her. How, he thought with some irony, typically Gryffindor. He smoothed hair back from her face as she looked up at him, her expression watchful. He was exquisitely aware of how soft her face felt in his hand, how it tingled to have his arm around her and hers around him, tangled inextricably, it seemed. It was all so uncomplicated.  
  
He leant down and kissed her. 


	38. the bird and the whale

Chapter Thirty Eight The Bird and the Whale  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, obviously it is, but I've stolen the characters from someone else. You can probably guess whom.  
  
Hermione Granger was confused. It seemed to be her permanent state of being lately, she felt. Over the past year or so, she had become so familiar with the sensation that she was able to categorise its particular subspecies: whether it was, say, Confusion #3 - Slight But Enduring Puzzlement, such as one would experience upon finding someone else's sock under one's bed, or Confusion #7 - Intense Bafflement (which with a touch of Confusion #15 (Frustrated And Slightly Angry Perplexion) was her usual reaction to what she had come to term Snape Behaviour).  
  
What she was experiencing now was Confusion #18 - I'm Getting Bloody Annoyed At This Situation.  
  
Had it been only last weekend she and Ginny giggled over plans to seduce Snape? Everything had seemed so clear then. And *then,* when she had returned and he had acted like a complete and utter bastard, it had seemed clear that she had been delusional, and possibly in need of therapy for being attracted to him. Now, it was clear... that it wasn't clear at all. It never had been. It was a disturbing thought to someone who had always dealt in certainties.  
  
Hermione squinted in the morning sun, and stretched. Last night, after that particularly earth-shattering kiss, Snape had done his usual wordless disappearing act. Eventually, she noted with a small smile. But the disappearing act had occurred, nonetheless, leaving Hermione to attempt sleep and awake with the aforesaid case of Confusion, and descend thenceforth into feeling completely out of control.  
  
On the other hand, she reflected as she threw the covers off and jumped out of bed, if she was completely out of control, she wasn't entirely responsible for her own actions. There was a certain amount of comfort in that as she stepped into the shower and began to plan her day.  
  
***  
  
Snape was perplexed. If Hermione Granger had been any sort of decently traditional Englishwoman, she would have refrained from mentioning such an embarrassing moment as last night at all cost. It did not appear, however, that she intended to be traditional about it.  
  
Currently, he was metaphorically backed against a wall as she confronted him. She had just asked him if he intended to discuss what had happened during last night's experiment and he- he felt a bump as a shelf poked him in the ribs - was now *literally* backed against a wall. This was not good.  
  
'Miss Granger,' he said as he edged away from her with as much grace as he could manage, 'if your Gryffindor stupidity had not been blinding you to the ludicrously obvious, you would have realised that the entire purpose of our meeting today was to discuss the outcome of last night's experiment. Now, if I may direct your attention to-' His intended escape route behind the desk was suddenly blocked by several pounds of Granger, as she shifted to stand in his way. She raised an eyebrow.  
  
'I was not talking,' she said, 'about the experiment, Snape.'  
  
Snape decided the best move at this point was to raise a slightly puzzled eyebrow, with a touch of sneer for good measure. It didn't seem to have any effect, as she just continued to stare at him.  
  
'You have this tendency, Snape, to avoid talking about certain... events,' she continued. 'For instance, I could have sworn that just a few weeks ago I accosted you and snogged you senseless. Perhaps you forgot. Or didn't notice. It *was* dark.'  
  
Ah. The direct approach. Usually, he was a great advocate of the direct approach. It cut through all the usual mess people were apt to spout in their long journey to getting to the point. Today, he would have gladly sat through Sybil Trelawney's longest meanderings if it only meant he could avoid this particular point.  
  
Luckily, the habit of years intervened. He shot her his most serious look and manoeuvred around to the other side of the desk.  
  
'Perhaps,' he said, 'my failure to mention the incident was intended to save certain immature and drunken Gryffindors embarrassment.'  
  
It wasn't one of his best, but it did appear to have hit the spot. He was preparing to deal with whatever hurt his comment provoked when he noted that Hermione did not look like a kicked puppy, as he would have expected; instead, her eyes appeared to be narrowing and her mouth was taking that particular shape reminiscent of Minerva McGonagall whenever she observed Peeves at work. He had seen this particular expression on Hermione's face several times, some of them just before she had slapped him. Perhaps he had misjudged the situation; his remark was supposed to have jolted her out of her apparent coquettish mood and hopefully out of his work room. Instead, it had poked what he recognised now as her quiet anger into full-blown fury. Drat.  
  
'You're a fine one to talk about immaturity, Snape,' she said, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at him. 'You react to just about everything with the emotional finesse of a three-year old. You always throw that word at me- immaturity. It seems to be the magic word for you. I'm tired of it. I would question,' she said, advancing on him behind the desk, 'the motivation of a man who would repeatedly kiss a woman he considers so immature.'  
  
There was a strategy here, he thought as he considered his next move. He could back away again, but he didn't think that would get him anywhere. For the first time in his illustrious career as a nasty bastard, he couldn't think of a biting remark that would make her back down. He could always turn heel and run, but that lacked his usual grace.  
  
Ah. Obviously not intending to give him time to think, Hermione was walking closer. Snape had seen a particularly cliched muggle movie once in which the hero had run his finger around his collar when confronted by the heroine. He understood that move now; his clothing did seem a little... confining.  
  
'I am not the bathroom mirror, Snape,' Hermione said, leaning close to him. 'You can't just use me to practise on and then put me away. You are either in a state of wanting to kiss me, or not.' The glare in her eyes faded slightly, and she stood watching him. Snape thought she looked like she was waiting for something, though he hadn't the faintest idea what. This new side of Hermione was disturbing. After a moment, she shook her head and backed off.  
  
'I'll organise my notes and send them to you this afternoon,' she said, picking up her books and heading for the door. 'I am going to lunch.' As she strode out the door Snape thought he heard her add, 'With humans.' He could have been mistaken.  
  
Thoroughly puzzled, he sat down at his desk with the intention of forgetting that episode ever happened and doing some work, and even managed to do so for three or four seconds. After that, he looked up with a frown.  
  
What was she up to, anyway? Blaming the whole thing on him, attacking him like that when she had been an active initiator in at least half of the... events she was talking about. It wasn't his fault she kept on throwing herself in his way. And to insinuate that there was something strange about the whole situation by turning her own behaviour back on him...  
  
Regardless, it seemed she was of some mad mind to be confrontational about it. He realised that, with all fairness, he would have to react to this situation in some way. After all, it wasn't fair or appropriate that matters simply go on this way. He would have to do something about it. It was lucky that he was so level-headed; when he calmed down and thought about it, there was really only one way of resolving the situation.  
  
Snape nodded to himself and began to gather up his papers. He would do the only thing he could do. He would hide in his rooms and avoid her for the rest of the day.  
  
***  
  
Hermione sipped at her mint tea and closed her eyes. Today had been a very long day. Her whole afternoon had been spent trying to note down interesting aspects of the experiment, which was a difficult task in itself, even disregarding what had happened after the dream. She had, in her continued insanity of the morning, decided not to disregard what had happened after the dream, and had stuck an analysis of Snape's behaviour on the end of the report before sending it to him by owl. It had not been one of her best moments.  
  
Thankfully, Snape had seemingly decided to save his torrent of fire for her immature behaviour for another day, and she had managed to avoid seeing him again. Minerva, bless her, had invited Hermione to dinner in her rooms for the evening, which was why Hermione was now ensconced in a comfy chair sipping mint tea instead of in the great hall facing Snape's wrath.  
  
Currently Minerva was on the chair opposite, watching her. Hermione gave her a nervous smile. It had seemed to her, of late, that many of the staff- particularly Minerva and Poppy - had been looking at her in a particularly watchful way. She had no idea why. Maybe it was some sort of initiation for new members of staff.  
  
'Thank you for a lovely dinner, Minerva,' she said politely. The older woman nodded her head.  
  
There was a pause.  
  
'This is wonderful tea,' she added. Minerva smiled again.  
  
'Yes. Poppy got it in Hogsmeade.'  
  
'Ah.'  
  
Another pause descended.  
  
'You seem to be talking to Severus again,' Minerva said. Hermione detected a hint of hopefulness in her tone and frowned.  
  
'Sort of,' she answered. Minerva raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Hermione didn't elaborate. It wasn't like her old head of house to be so roundabout, but if she had chosen this particular topic to be cagey on, Hermione wasn't going to help her. It wasn't like there was anything to talk about, anyway.  
  
Uncomfortable with the silence, Hermione sought for something to say.  
  
'Sirius seems to be enjoying his time here,' she began. It was only when the other woman's eyebrows raised that Hermione realised that particular topic was full of mineholes as well. She heard the tick of the clock on the mantlepiece as she searched for something to add that couldn't be misconstrued.  
  
'He, ah, was telling me that he and Dumbledore are making progress,' she added. 'They seem to be getting along well.'  
  
'Yes,' said Minerva, still watching her eagerly. Hermione sighed inwardly. It would be nice to think that her life within the school was seen as more than amourous exploits to entertain the older members of staff, but it was a vain hope. The older witches seemed determined to pair her off with someone.  
  
Hermione finished off the tea in one gulp and set her cup aside. 'I must be going,' she said, and stood. Minerva's face crumbled in disappointment.  
  
'Oh, really? It's so early. You haven't had any cake yet.'  
  
'I'm sorry. It's been a very long day.' Hermione sent the older witch an apologetic smile and began edging toward the door. 'What with working and... working. You know how it is. Thank you so much for dinner. It was lovely, really.'  
  
Minerva stood and walked her to the door. 'Well, dear, if that's the case then you had better get some rest. You don't want to be tired for your birthday.' She offered her a smile, which Hermione returned, though the reminder didn't make her want to smile at all. As she walked back to her rooms, she reflected that she didn't feel almost twenty at all; more like fifty-two.  
  
However, it appeared that she was not going to be allowed to wallow as she discovered when she spied Sirius standing outside her rooms.  
  
'Ah, I was just wondering where you'd got to,' he said, holding up a bottle.  
  
Hermione began to shake her head. 'Sirius, I'm sorry, but-'  
  
'No, none of that nonsense for me,' he interrupted. 'Harry would be ashamed if he knew his godfather had let his best friend spend her last hours as a teenager doing something respectable. Besides, I'm bored.'  
  
Hermione narrowed her eyes. 'Okay, but on one condition: there will be no mention, hinting at, winking about or insinuating of a certain potions master who works at this school or any connected topic. I've had enough of that for one day.'  
  
Sirius gave her a solemn look. 'Hermione,' he said. 'I've got you all alone in some private rooms and you think I want to talk about Severus Snape?'  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and let him in.  
  
It turned out a lot better than she had expected. Instead of being sneaky or trying to wriggle around the topic like most people she had encountered of late, Sirius actually kept his word and not mentioned Snape all evening. Instead of having to face another subtle interrogation on her private life, Hermione found herself having the first intelligent conversation she had had in months. She was even able to forget about Snape herself, after an hour or so. At the end of the evening, Hermione gave Sirius a heartfelt hug.  
  
'Thank you for a wonderful birthday present,' she said as they stood at the door.  
  
'Hey, I may be a dog, but I give good conversation,' Sirius joked. Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed him out the door.  
  
The next morning, Hermione woke in a much better frame of mind than on the previous day. A lingering confusion still remained, but, as she gave herself a stern talking to in the shower, she didn't have to play along with Snape's games. If he wanted to be a confusing bastard, he could do so by himself.  
  
Getting a good book from her shelves, she prepared to go down to breakfast. Today was her birthday, and she was going to spend it being herself.  
  
***  
  
'I'm worried about Hermione,' said Minerva as she, the headmaster, Poppy and Sirius exited the great hall after lunch. 'She's been so quiet these past few days.'  
  
'You mean when she hasn't been yelling at Snape,' Sirius said with a grin. Minerva frowned at him.  
  
'I know perfectly well what I mean. She hasn't been herself.'  
  
'It is true,' said Poppy. 'I haven't seen her all day, and she usually comes to breakfast at least.'  
  
'I believe the house elves delivered her lunch to the staff room,' Dumbledore said pointedly.  
  
'Well perhaps we'd better go and say hello to her then,' Sirius smiled.  
  
'It wouldn't do to have her think we don't care it's her birthday, poor girl,' said Minerva with another frown, leading the way to the staff room.  
  
***  
  
Hermione sat staring into the empty fireplace of the staff room, her book opening its pages to the empty air. It was all very well to decide to not let Snape affect her any more, but she couldn't stop her brain from analysing him. She supposed it was her nature. Anyway, when a man kisses you one minute and yells at you the next, it was bound to provoke thought.  
  
He hadn't kissed her again. She had stood there after asking him whether he wanted to or not, and he hadn't. Maybe she had misinterpreted the whole thing from the start? He had just about said as much. Perhaps it had been all her. In any case, he hadn't wanted her.  
  
Hermione heard the click of a door and edged further back into her chair. She didn't want to be interrupted today. She simply wanted to be left alone, at least for today. She would cope with things tomorrow.  
  
A figure stepped in front of the other chair, and Hermione sighed. It seemed the world wasn't content to let her be. She could tell, even without looking, that it was Snape.  
  
She jumped as a book came into her vision, proffered by a pale hand.  
  
'Happy birthday.' Surprised, Hermione looked up, but he had settled back into his chair and was watching the empty fireplace. Raising her eyebrows in consternation, Hermione turned the book over in her hands. It wasn't wrapped at all, but the printing on the material cover was difficult to read.  
  
'Lucerne's Potions. This has been out of print...' She looked up to see Snape watching her reaction.  
  
'It still is,' said Snape. 'Rather out of date now, but I believe you will find some of the historical references interesting.' He raised an eyebrow. 'I would have sent it via dove, but the damn thing wouldn't spit the twig of laurel out.'  
  
She spent a slightly stunned moment before the smile fought its way out, and then she hid it by looking down at the book. Snape didn't seem to mind.  
  
They sat in silence for a while. It was the type of moment that only became awkward when one thought about it. She did.  
  
'I hope the notes I sent yesterday were comprehensible,' she began, but was stopped by his look. She opened her mouth to speak again, but stopped and frowned.  
  
'I don't understand you at all,' she complained. Snape raised an eyebrow slightly.  
  
'You are not required to,' he replied.  
  
Hermione sighed, and looked away. She heard a soft noise from Snape. 'What is it you would like to know?' he asked.  
  
She looked up in surprise. It seemed he was sincere. Hermione cleared her throat.  
  
'I, uh.' She frowned. 'I don't know what to ask.'  
  
Snape folded his hands loosely in his lap, appearing to be ready to wait. Hermione looked down at her own hands, searching for a beginning.  
  
'Do you miss Ailie?' she asked, finally. Snape's eyebrows rose slightly.  
  
'Not as much as I'm certain you do,' he said, but shook his head at Hermione's reproving look. 'Yes. In many ways, I do.'  
  
'What ways?' Hermione asked, surprising herself. 'I mean, you always seemed to barely tolerate her. She seemed to annoy you so much.'  
  
'Having someone constantly in your head would annoy you as well, Hermione,' Snape drawled with a hint of humour. 'And I barely tolerate most people. But,' he added, 'she was entertaining, generally helpful when she tried to be, and never cruel. That is more than I would think most people would be if they had the opportunity to manipulate my mind.'  
  
Hermione looked down. 'Not everyone would want to be cruel to you,' she said quietly. She heard Snape sigh impatiently, and let it go.  
  
'Do you enjoy teaching?' she asked. She saw him nod.  
  
'Yes,' he said. 'On occasion. The joy of seeing a completely uncomprehending and talentless dunderhead of a child transform into a mildly competent human being cannot be described. Although I have had my failures, even then.' Hermione gave a reluctant smile.  
  
'You know, Neville was terrified of you,' she said, feeling like she was on safer ground in this topic. 'That's why he was always exploding cauldrons.'  
  
'Neville Longbottom was constantly exploding cauldrons because he has absolutely no talent for potions. If it was possible, I would suggest he has a negative talent for potions, his own neutrality toward them having been leeched by some over-active potions mind,' he answered dryly. His tone softened. 'However, I hear that he is sufficiently adept at his chosen field of Herbology to have streamlined his courses at university and achieve top grades. His father was particularly adept at the subject, I recall.'  
  
Hermione's eyes widened. 'Do you keep track of your students after they leave school?'  
  
Snape snorted. 'One can hardly avoid it. Minerva is continually spouting the successes of her graduated Gryffindors in the staff room. But yes, it pays to keep track of the future of wizardry.'  
  
Hermione took a moment to digest that. She had always assumed that Snape would revel in their failures, rather than show any pleasure or interest in her class mates' successes. She frowned as a question she had always wanted to ask came to mind.  
  
'Why were you so horrible to all of us during school?' she asked quietly.  
  
'Because I didn't like you,' Snape replied, without hesitation. Hermione looked over at him, slightly shocked.  
  
Snape gave her a serious look. 'Hermione, if you picture me as the sort of person who will suddenly spout streams of the milk of human kindness, you are in for a very long wait,' he said sternly. 'It took me several years to accept what I am, but what I am is unchangeable. Do not fantasise that encouragement will force me into becoming a...' he grimaced, 'normal human being.'  
  
The conversation was taking a familiar path, and Hermione said so. 'You always do that. Poking and prodding at anyone who wants to be friends with you. I've seen it, you know,' she added with quiet disappointment. 'I've watched the way you work. You could be friends with Sirius, if you'd only- only- loosen up a little and not be such a complete stiff prat. And McGonagall.' She looked down at her hands, adding quietly, 'and me.' When she looked up again, she saw that Snape was staring into the empty grate of the fire, his expression unreadable. 'Every time someone tries to get even a little bit close to you- tries to make it that the can have a decent conversation with you, even- you close off and make them feel stupid for even trying. It's not a crime to have friends, you know. It's not going to make you suddenly walk around spreading sunshine either.' She stared at him until he was forced to look at her.  
  
'It's the way I am,' he said simply.  
  
'No,' Hermione replied, shaking her head. 'Evidently it's the way you want to be. You aren't fixed in stone, Snape, no matter how much you want to be.'  
  
'I cannot change my personality simply because some little girl wants me to,' Snape argued. Hermione could sense him closing down, retreating from the openness of the conversation. She made a frustrated sound and ran her hands through her hair.  
  
'That is not what I mean at all, and you know it. I... there are many people who are willing to appreciate you as you are. I - I do,' she admitted quietly. 'I just wish that we could have a conversation without me having to be scared of what you say, scared that you will just explode at me.'  
  
'We're doing that right now,' Snape said mildly.  
  
Hermione sighed. 'Yes, that's true.'  
  
'Hermione,' Snape said. 'I will not change. This is something you will have to accept. Now, run away.'  
  
'You're not listening to me.' She sent him a disappointed look and stood.  
  
'May I ask one last question?' she asked. Snape inclined his head. 'How can I make you happy?'  
  
Snape frowned slightly, and thought for a moment. 'That isn't what should concern you,' he eventually said, not looking at her. Hermione pressed her lips tightly together, but said nothing. She felt there wasn't anything to say.  
  
***  
  
The four who had been standing at the doorway silently looked at each other as first Hermione, then Snape exited the staff room. McGonagall raised her eyebrows silently.  
  
'The bird and the whale,' Sirius said, as the four of them watched Snape and Hermione walk down the corridor. The two walked to the end of the corridor together, then parted without a word. Minerva looked at Sirius enquiringly, and he nodded in the direction of the disappeared pair. 'The song of the bird who fell in love with the whale,' he explained, and recited: 'He said, 'You cannot live in the ocean,'  
  
And she said to him, 'You never can live in the sky,'  
  
But the ocean is filled with tears  
  
And the sea turns into a mirror  
  
There's a whale in the moon when it's clear  
  
And a bird on the tide.' He finished with a nod, as Professor Sprout broke into quiet applause.  
  
'I never knew you were so poetic, Sirius,' Dumbledore said, as the four of them made their way back to the staff room. Sirius shrugged.  
  
'It helps to charm the ladies,' he said with a grin, and was rewarded with a slap from Sprout.  
  
'Why do you quote that particular story in relation to Severus and Hermione?' McGonagall asked, as they entered the staff room. She and Sirius made their way to the fireside while Albus and Poppy ventured toward the tea things.  
  
'It's clear that Severus is never going to put the poor girl out of her misery,' Sirius said, shaking his head. 'Not that I don't understand his position. Hermione's not exactly helpless, but Snape's position...' He looked around uncomfortably. 'Well, he's not exactly the best man for a young witch to be dating. And he knows that, so he's keeping away from her. Smart, but...' He trailed off with a shrug and Minerva twinkled at him.  
  
'I had no idea you were such a romantic at heart,' she teased, and was surprised to see Sirius blush.  
  
'I may be a rogue, but I'm not a heartless one,' he said. 'And I listen to women.' He raised his eyebrows suggestively, and Minerva shook her head with a smile. 


	39. bjork bjork bjork

Chapter Thirty Nine a path of cinders  
  
The birthday party was perfectly wonderful. The staff had put a lot of effort into making their newest member feel welcomed and at home, and the staff room had been decorated just as nicely as if her own parents had taken care of it. The food consisted of all her favourites, care of the knowledgable house elves, and the company was at its most celubrious, care of Professor Flitwick's talents with punch.  
Snape watched Hermione from a corner. He would leave soon, but he would drink in her presence for just a moment more. He felt like he was in a desert.  
She had confronted him about his kissing her, and she was perfectly right. He had realised this just before he had ventured up to the staff room with his peace offering. The whole situation between them was mad, and only got worse every time he thought about it. Which was why he didn't like to think about it.  
Hermione Granger was a young girl with a bright mind and an even brighter future, if nothing came along to drag her down. She was also, and today's conversation had only highlighted this for Snape, given to caring for others. There were others that would in turn care for her, and this was why he was removing himself from her presence, to allow them to do so. He was definitely going to leave... in just a minute.  
Snape sighed and put down his drink as he saw Sirius Black make his way over to the birthday girl. The man put his arm around her shoulders in a friendly hug. Snape very slowly took his hand off his glass, resisting the urge to break it, and turned toward the door.  
  
***  
  
Hermione felt angry, but she wasn't exactly sure why. The staff of Hogwarts had certainly done their best to please her, and, if she stepped back from herself for a moment, she could certainly appreciate it. Sirius was currently doing his best to entertain her, and there was no reason she should not be entertained. It was a wonderful party.  
Her anger had nothing to do with the fact that Snape had yet to show his face, or that she hadn't seen him since this afternoon. Her feeling of unease had nothing to do with him or their last conversation at all. The idea that he had subtly warned her off, lurking in the back of her mind, was not what was disturbing her.  
Actually, it really wasn't any of this. Hermione was uncertain of herself. This was a rare occurrence, and it irritated her no end.  
With a polite word to Sirius, Hermione excused herself from the conversation and went over to the long table which held the food and drinks for the party. The house elves had worked hard on providing all her favourite foods, but none of them really tempted her. She felt distracted, as though there was something she should be doing.  
She allowed herself to move with the flow of the party, mixing in conversations until the hour grew late. Eventually, when she felt it wouldn't be noticed, she slipped out. She needed some time to think.  
She was outside before she realised it was raining. Storms had always excited her, the power of them thrashing around overhead. There seemed to be some sort of magic in them - probably something Ailie could have told her about, if she had remained. Hermione shook her head, unwilling to let the memory make her sad. The rain was cold, banishing the warmth of the castle, and it only lashed against her for a second before she decided to wander within instead. The castle had corridors enough to give her time to think. She let her feet take her where they pleased, not very surprised when they led her down.  
Before she realised it, she was in the potions classroom.  
  
***  
  
Snape stalked wearily up and down the length of his chamber. He could hear the beginnings of a fine summer storm begin to patter at his window, the sound soothing him somewhat.  
The party would be nearing its end now, its participants giddy with too much spiked punch and getting friendlier by the minute. He had known Sirius Black for more years than he cared to remember, and knew that the other man was very much interested in Hermione. As much as he hated to admit it, the damned dog would be good for her. The party would be nearing its end. Everyone would be heading off to bed... He really didn't want to think about it.  
In need of distraction, Snape strode over to the door. It usually calmed him to inspect his stores, the soothing rhythm of noting down the precise amount of each ingredient and the calm smell of dust around him. A walk would be better, but he didn't dare venture into the corridors upstairs at this particular moment.  
The dungeon's few high windows flashed with the storm as he entered the classroom. He walked over to the wall and peered up at the grimy window, his eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the flash of light and dark outside. The storm was going at full speed now, throwing a tantrum at the sky. When he had been small, Snape had invented stories for the lightning, pretending that the ancient Greek gods were playing games across the sky. He had never told anyone that. He blinked. There seemed one shadow in this room that was darker than the rest. He blinked again, forcing his eyes to readjust, making out a dim figure against the velvet dark. His eyebrows raised as he recognised the stare reflected back at him.  
So... she was here. Really, he didn't know why he was surprised.  
He walked closer, noting that she appeared to be wet.  
'You've been walking in the rain,' he said, his voice breaking the dim silence of the room.  
She shrugged. 'Not really. I just opened the door for a walk outside when the rain got to me. It's a wonderful storm out there.'  
Snape inclined his head, noting the trail of a rain drop as it left her hair and ran down her neck. 'You'll catch cold,' was all he could think of to say.  
'Good thing you gave Poppy a supply of pepper-up potion.' A small smile lit her face. She shifted, her legs dangling over the edge of the desk. It was so dark in between the flashes of lightning that Snape could barely see her, the darkness embracing them both and making him feel he was almost touching her.  
'I came down here to think,' Hermione explained after a moment's silence. He heard her give a small sigh. 'I don't know what to make of you, Snape.' There was a tinge of disappointment and hurt underlying her words that made Snape feel injured.  
'Strange as it may seem,' he said, leaning on the desk next to her, 'I don't actually like it when you say my name that way.'  
Hermione looked at him, confused. 'Snape,' he elucidated. 'One syllable, beginning with a sibilant. When you pronounce it, it sounds... bitter.' He looked away into the velvet black, slightly embarrassed at unwaringly dissecting such a part of himself.  
'It's the nature of the name,' said Hermione, her voice low. 'You can't help but snap it out. But your first name...' She reached up and pushed a wet tendril of hair out of her face. 'Your first name invites gentleness. Sev-er-us...' She glanced at him, giving him a small smile. Snape felt a shiver wind its way down his spine. 'The two names together aren't a bad summation, really.'  
Snape gave a short laugh. 'Next you'll be telling me I'm made of sugar and spice...' he drifted off, raising a challenging eyebrow.  
She shook her head. 'It's slugs and snails, Severus. Haven't you ever read that nursery rhyme properly?' Seeing something in his face, Hermione shrugged again. 'But slugs and snails make good potions ingredients. And sugar and spice are meaningless garnish.' Her smile was gentle.  
Snape looked down at her face, still slightly damp from the rain, and felt something give way inside him.  
'You know, you asked me something very interesting once,' he said softly. A flash of lightning lit up the window, highlighting Hermione's wild brown hair plastered against her skin. She was beautiful; he could admit that to himself now.  
Hermione smiled breathlessly, the first time she had ever really smiled for him, one of those thousand-watt smiles he had seen her bestow with careless caution on friends and strangers a thousand times. Snape reached out and smoothed a strand of hair away from her face, surprised when her eyelids lowered and she leant into his hand, turning it into a caress. He felt shaken.  
She looked up at him beneath her lashes, and leant forward slightly. Snape hesitated. There was an unasked question here, but he wasn't sure how dangerous it could be to answer it. Hermione sensed his hesitation, and smiled at him reassuringly. 'A birthday present,' she whispered wetly.  
Snape inhaled the scent of her, the sweet rain clinging to her own pure smell; cinnamon, nutmeg and the cool blue ocean all in one. His eyes met hers, searching each other out in the uncertain dark. 'As it's a special occasion,' he murmured, before placing his hands on her arms and pulling her to him.  
When his lips tasted hers they were cool and refreshing as a glass of lemonade on a hot day. He felt her lips part beneath his, welcoming him. There seemed to be no interval between kissing her and devouring her; the instant his lips touched on hers it was like a spring had been let loose, freeing him to taste her and need her as much as he wanted.  
The world seemed to close down to the feel and smell and taste of her, the warmth of her in his arms. Her hands edged their way up his shoulders, wrapping around him and urging him closer. He had no desire to resist. Having her in his arms was like a taste of heaven, feeling her so willingly pressed against him, as if her need was as great as his own.  
The thought made his blood pound even harder. He shifted her in his arms, and felt Hermione's slim wet body pressed up against his, her legs wrapping themselves around him with an innocent urgency. They clung to each other like the world was falling down, trying to squeeze out every molecule between them, trying to crawl into each other. Snape felt a desperation like he had never felt before. He couldn't think enough to breathe, couldn't think enough to guide his actions, wanted, needed...  
How long they remained that way he didn't know. The only acceptable messages being sent by his brain were those of the senses; the way she tasted, the way she felt. As their breathing quickened, she moved against him, and for a moment he thought she was going to push him away. She slid off the desk, pushing him backward toward the door as her hands began to roam over him.  
'Bedroom,' she gasped as she broke off their kiss. 'Now.' Snape had little time to think as she pulled him back down for another mind-boggling kiss, but some form of sanity nudged him as she began to undo the buttons of his shirt.  
'Hermione...' he warned, but was silenced by a nip at his collarbone.  
'Now, Severus, please,' she moaned, slipping her hands into his shirt and kissing him again, removing all possibility of thought. He clutched her to him, and they began to edge toward the door to his rooms, rubbing desperately against each other.  
As soon as they entered his bedroom, Hermione dragged him toward the bed, pulling him on top of her, squirming with need. Her legs wrapped themselves around him again, joining them tightly together in all the right places. Snape wanted to moan as he felt her shift beneath him and wished he could remember the charm for the removal of clothes just so he could slide into her. His head was abuzz with her kisses. Her lips seemed to drug him, yet he couldn't get enough.  
Slowly, subtly, their desperation melted into something more gentle. Their kisses became longer, more inquisitive. Snape revelled at the feel of her in his arms, her hands holding him to her. He felt her lips on his neck, tickling, biting. He ran his hands over her damp hair, smoothing it back from her face and looking into her eyes. She was so beautiful, he thought, a rush of something identifiable threatening to overwhelm him. He lowered his head for a tender kiss in place of speaking.  
Hunger came again, but this time with a slow burning need untinged by desperation. Snape felt Hermione's inquisitive hands slide under the hem of his shirt, moulding the skin of his back. He smiled into her mouth. The feeling she was giving him was one that could only be described as sweet. He moved his thigh, rubbing against her, and relished the little moan that reverberated through her. He shifted slightly, deliberately, and nibbled at her lip as she sighed. She returned the movement, nudging his achingly hard erection with her hip, and he bit back a growl. Her little hands slid along his skin to the front of the shirt, stretching it taut, and Snape watched amusedly as Hermione pulled back, a little frown on her forehead, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of the shirt. He pressed against her again, forcing a delightful whimper out of her, forcing her hands to contract into fists as she clutched his shirt. With a wicked glint in her eye Hermione returned the pressure, making Snape's head reel with pleasure. With a frustrated snort Hermione tugged at the two sides of his shirt, and Snape heard material tear before he felt the blissful ecstasy of her hands and lips upon his bare chest.  
'Hermione...' he whispered as her hot mouth made its way up his neck. Needing her kiss, Snape ducked his head and caught her lips with his, running his hands over the length of her body desperately.  
'Oh, Severus,' Hermione whispered as he moved away from her to work at the buttons of her dress, moving the skirt over her hips. Running his hands along her thighs he once again settled between her legs, and with a sigh of pleasure Hermione wrapped herself around him, enfolding him in her embrace.  
'Say that again,' he whispered into her mouth, finally tugging her lovely body free of the wet dress.  
'Severus,' she said, looking him in the eye. What he saw there both pleasured and frightened him. The sound of his given name on her lips sent a thrill through him that he couldn't define.  
'Again,' he said roughly, running a hand down the side of her body, trailing his palm over one deliciously curved hip.  
'Severusssss...' she whispered, closing her eyes in pleasure. 'Oh, Severus, Severus, please...'  
Tingles went through him, hearing her entreating voice. He was dizzy, floating on a sea of pleasure. He took her lips again, felt her whisper his name. It made his head spin. She was so beautiful, so lovely, so perfect...  
Her hot tongue darted into his mouth, driving him over the edge. Soon, they were free of their clothes, and Hermione's arms were wrapped around him again, cocooning him in a web of warmth. With her lips on his, Snape was incapable of anything but being engulfed in her, entranced by her, entrapped by her. Her silken legs wrapped around him, dainty feet sliding up his legs to urge his naked body closer, hands on his back pressing her to him tightly.  
'Severus,' she whispered as his lips feathered kisses along her forehead, 'please...'  
And then he was inside her, no time or space to wonder if this was right. It was right. Intertwined with her, caught up in her... forever.  
  
***  
  
Hermione shifted through the clinging folds of sleep, breathing in the scent of the man who held her. She tried to move her leg, only to find it trapped. Her eyes opened suddenly as she remembered where she was, and she smiled. Ah, yes. She rubbed her back up against the chest of the man holding her, her hips teasing his in the movement. The arm around her tightened and she heard a low growl.  
'Have you never heard the phrase about poking a sleeping bear, Miss Granger?' a silken voice growled in her ear. Her smile widened.  
'No,' she said, turning. 'Care to explain?' A dark smile lit her lover's face as he pulled her roughly to him and devoured her with kisses.  
Hermione threw herself into the kiss, the torrent of emotion that had almost consumed her last time sweeping over her again. Never before had a simple kiss made her feel as if the world had stopped spinning. It robbed her breath from her.  
She felt Snape's hand on her hip, and, wanting more contact, edged her leg over his. Ah, that was better. Why hadn't Ginny told her of the pure ecstasy of skin on skin? She would probably never want to wear clothes around Snape again.  
Snape's knee crept between hers as their kisses got wilder, but Hermione wasn't having any of that. With more than a little insistence, she managed to wrap her legs around him, to feel him press against her once more.  
The world descended, and Hermione felt a little part of her soul mix with his. The eternity she saw there left her breathless.  
  
***  
  
The beating of their hearts slowed from their frantic pace, and the room slowly came back into focus. The two lovers gradually let their holds on each other loosen, both a little startled by what had happened.  
'That wasn't just sex, was it,' Hermione said in a flat tone.  
It was a rhetorical question, but Severus, with the adrenaline and utter magical ecstasy still surging through his veins, felt the need to answer. 'No. That wasn't.'  
'Ailie?' she asked. It took a few moments for Snape to realise what the question was.  
Slowly, he nodded. Of course. Ailie's blood had been so potent when it had linked the two of them, it was to be expected that whatever now remained in his bloodstream would have a similar effect when he shared blood with someone else. It gives a whole new meaning to the term 'safe sex'... Oh, dear...  
'Oh, dear,' Hermione said, her voice still without expression. The fact that she was now echoing his thoughts added weight to the conviction slowly dawning in his mind.  
'Not again,' Snape said despondently.  
Before he could react, Hermione had wrenched herself from his side, taking the sheet with her. With a terse command, she summoned her clothing from the floor and disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed itself behind her, leaving Snape to stare at it, rather muzzily in admiration for the obvious progress in Hermione's command of wandless magic. When he had been her age...  
Oh, dear. He had just had sex with a twenty-year-old. Barely that, even. 'A birthday present' indeed. And she had been a virgin- he had not only managed to seduce a child, but an innocent one. A new achievement, even for him.  
Cursing Ron Weasley for not having done the thing he had been suspecting him of all these years, Snape began to find his clothes. His mood was not improved by the state of his ragged shirt, which looked like it had had an argument with a razor-wire fence.  
Hermione was still in the bathroom when he finished, and the silent accusation of the ravaged room was beginning to make him feel guilty. Mustering up his courage and reminding himself of his mature years, Snape edged toward the firmly closed door, and tapped softly.  
When there was no answer, he tapped again. Drat. She was upset.  
'Er- Miss Gr-' Damn. 'Hermione,' he said, hoping that she would relieve him of his misery and at least open the door. When she didn't, he was forced to continue conversing with the wooded grain of the door.  
'Hermione, I'm- I have to apologise. I had no right to do what I did, and you have every right to be angry. Believe me, if I had known that- if I had remembered,' he half-said to himself. 'I really had no idea that Ailie's blood would still be as potent, and I take full responsibility for the outcome. Not that that makes it better, after all I had no right to- do what I did in the first place, and for that I must heartily apologise...'  
There was no response from the room within, and Snape began to feel the ridiculousness of the situation.  
'Hermione, if you would just open the door- I'm certain that we should discuss this-'  
A slow suspicion began to dawn over Snape. There was an emptiness to the space behind this door, he instinctively felt. Assuring himself it was for her safety anyway, he unlocked the door with his wand, and hesitantly pushed the door open.  
'Hermione... Ah.' Snape found himself standing in a bathroom that was equipped with all the necessities one could possibly need- bath, sink, shower, toilet, bathrail- but was totally and utterly devoid of the one thing necessary for him to continue his apology.  
Hermione. 


	40. Last night I dreamed I was dreamingofyou

Chapter Forty. Last night I dreamed that I was dreaming of you  
  
A/N: I again apologise for my tardiness in updating. I know how frustrating it is, but you know how it is (example: last week, I read 23 books in three days for an annotated bibliography. And they were thick ones. Don't talk to me about Shere Hite or the Kinsey reports. Ugh). My thesis is due in two months, so the bad news is I am unlikely to update any more frequently until then, probably less so, but the good news is I will need to keep my mind off my terrible grade after then and will most likely retreat into the realm of fantasy that is Snape Gets His. So there you have it.  
  
I also wanted to issue a challenge, of a sort: this chapter contains lists of pros and cons. The number of cons ends up as 27, versus 28 pros. In each case, only one item off each list is shown. I would be very interested to see what the other 26/27 items could be- and so challenge anyone to send me their own lists via reviews. The most weirdly funny will be put in a list that I will include in the next chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: Pas sans mon poulet.  
  
It wouldn't be seemly for the potions master of Hogwarts school to run through the corridors, which was why the progress of Snape to Dumbledore's office will be described as being conducted in a brisk walk. It was only eight o'clock, but he had barely contained himself to arriving on the headmaster's doorstep at this hour. The hours between discovering Hermione's absence and the present had stretched to an eternity as he had paced the castle's halls, covertly looking for her.  
  
She hadn't been in her rooms. He hadn't wanted to invade her privacy, but an hour or so of wandering the halls in the hope of bumping into her had made him so frantic that he had checked. But she hadn't been there, so he had gone wandering again.  
  
The events of the night had left him disturbed, to say the least. While he detected some essentials of the bond he had shared with Ailie - an extra concern for her welfare, a tug that drew him to her - he didn't have the benefit this time of knowing if Hermione was okay. At least with Ailie there was some form of thought projection, but it appeared the bond worked differently with wizards.  
  
The headmaster was already dressed when he answered Snape's knock, and didn't appear to be especially surprised to see him. The old man twinkled gently as he offered him some tea.  
  
Snape got right to the point.  
  
'Headmaster. Miss Granger and I- there was an accident-' *Oh, yes, Sir, I accidentally made love to her for three hours-* 'We happened to share blood. You realise the implications.'  
  
'I certainly do, Severus,' replied Dumbledore. Snape tried to ignore the twinkle in the old man's eye. 'However, I fear you are under a misapprehension. I believe you had better sit down.'  
  
Puzzled, Snape seated himself in the proffered chair, wondering what the old man could know.  
  
'I am afraid, Severus, that your link to Ailie is no more. Without your knowledge, the members of Ailie's coven and the members of yours performed the necessary ritual to banish the link.'  
  
'My coven?' asked Snape, thoroughly puzzled.  
  
'Yes,' Dumbledore said. He smiled warmly at Snape. 'If I can presume to call myself, Minerva and Argus such.'  
  
Snape sat back, stunned. He didn't need the old wizard to explain any further. If the ceremony had been successful, then he was no longer beleaguered with a soul-bond to Ailie. It should have been a relief. He was too stunned at the moment to confidently judge for himself if it was.  
  
'Fortunately, the magic in Ailie's blood would not have been strong enough for the link to be shared with another person, anyway,' Dumbledore was saying, and Snape forced himself to pay attention.  
  
'No,' he agreed, knowing that an answer was expected. The meaning of what his Headmaster had said eventually sunk in. 'You mean to say, that I no longer have a link with Ailie? That it couldn't have been soul-bonding with-' he cut himself off before he said something embarrassing.  
  
Dumbledore's eyes again twinkled. 'I am saying, dear Severus, that even while you were soul-bonded with Ailie, it is highly unlikely that you would have, through her blood, been able to bond with another person. As the bond between yourself and Ailie has now been banished, it is safe to assume that you are not able to bond with another, non-Wiccan person.' Dumbledore idly unwrapped a sweet, popping it into his mouth with great deliberation. 'I wonder,' he said in a quiet voice, 'what made you think you had been bonded, once more?' He looked back up at Snape, his expression unreadable.  
  
Snape summoned up his dignity, which had apparently disappeared with the loss of his self-control.  
  
'I was mistaken,' he said sternly, and rose.  
  
Dumbledore nodded at him. 'Very well, Severus. If ever you need a confidante...'  
  
'I'll be sure to shoot myself in the head. Yes, thank you.' Glowering darkly, Snape swept from the room.  
  
This was not a good development at all.  
  
***  
  
Hermione Granger was on the lam. She had to admit it- for perhaps the first time, she had run away from a situation like a coward. But it was justified.  
  
She had arrived on her parents' doorstep at five o'clock that morning, exhausted and virtually unable to communicate. Luckily it was her father, the early riser, who was up and about when she arrived, and a relatively thin explanation went past his radar. By the time she rose from her slumber in the guest room, the sun was low on the horizon once more. She wandered into the kitchen and found her parents there, her mother looking slightly worried at her tired appearance. Apparently sensing her daughter's reluctance for family banter, Penelope Granger shot her husband a look and he left the room while she poured her daughter a cup of tea.  
  
When they were both seated, the elder woman patten her daughter's hand.  
  
'We didn't expect to see you today, darling,' she said. Hermione, uncertain of what to say, merely nodded.  
  
Even she wasn't certain as to why she was here. All she knew was that, after her cowardly performance of running away in Snape's chambers, Hogwarts was the last place she had wanted to be. It still was. She was idly considering whether she could conduct her classes via owl mail.  
  
It had taken very little thought to realise that her presumption about a Wiccan linkage to Snape had been wrong. In fact, she had come to the conclusion roughly three minutes after fleeing Snape's rooms. Ailie and Snape hadn't developed the same blood type after bonding, and it was a bit of a stretch to assume that the one little pinch of Wiccan blood in Snape's system- which should have been flushed out by now anyway- was powerful enough for him to forge a link with another non-Wiccan. Even the strongest potions ingredients weren't that powerful. These thoughts had travelled through her brain with her usual recourse to logic as she had made her way up to her rooms. By the time she had got to her own door, she had been forced to conclude that it was something else altogether that had provoked the reaction between herself and Snape. It had not helped her discomfiture.  
  
The trouble was, she simply wasn't prepared to deal with this kind of outcome. Sex with Snape was supposed to have simply been sex; nice, uncomplicated and exciting, but most of all straightforward. No complicated emotions to get in the way. They would have sex, and work. Neither situation would have to interfere with the other, and when the former ceased to appeal to them, they could continue with the latter feeling nothing more than a little more well exercised.  
  
Hermione would admit she was no expert on sexual intercourse, but she was willing to bet that the average casual roll in the hay did not leave you feeling like your soul had been ripped in half and your body permanently imprinted by the touch of another human being. Even then, there would have been room for doubt if Snape hadn't as good as said he felt exactly the same way. The fact that he had so willingly accepted her surmisal of the situation said something of his own experience.  
  
Forgetting her mother's presence, Hermione groaned and put her head in her hands. Here she was, in a huge mess and she had to analyse it like it was a lab experiment. The trouble was, that was the better option. She didn't want to think about the label people usually put on such feelings.  
  
Her mother patted her hand, and Hermione looked up. There was such a look of concern on the older woman's face that she felt obliged to explain.  
  
'Mum...' she began, then narrowed her eyes. How to put this? 'I slept with Professor Snape.'  
  
To her credit, the elder Granger woman only widened her eyes slightly in reaction. 'Is that so? Recently, or when you were at school?'  
  
'Mum!' Hermione gasped, then laughed slightly. 'Recently. Um... very recently, in fact.'  
  
Penelope nodded slowly. 'Are you unhappy about it?'  
  
Hermione frowned. 'I'm not sure. Not really. But there's a problem.' With a sigh, she began to explain all the concerns involved in being in love with a man like Severus Snape.  
  
Three hours later, John Granger poked his head into the kitchen to see his wife and daughter facing off each other over the kitchen table, each with a pad of paper and copious notes. He smiled at the ritual he had seen them perform ever since Hermione could pick up a pen, one woman noting the pros of a situation, the other listing the cons. From what he could see, the scales were about even. He smiled to himself and went back into the sitting room.  
  
Hermione was not smiling. She frowned down at her list - she was minding the 'cons' - and peered up at her mother. 'Are you certain you've got twenty-seven?'  
  
The older woman nodded. 'Yup. Twenty-seven reasons you should pursue a relationship with your Mr Snape. Think you can beat it?'  
  
'Mum! This is not funny.' Frowning even deeper, Hermione chewed on her pen. Her list had only twenty-six cons. Her brows lifted as something occurred to her. 'I know! He always cuts his food into pieces before eating. It's really annoying.' She looked up to see her mother giving her a serious look.  
  
'Sweetheart, I hardly think that's a reason for the man to spend the rest of his days alone. Besides, you always used to eat your food that way until your father told you it was uncultured.'  
  
'I was only seven at the time. And besides, he was right. Cutting a meal up that way not only allows it to cool quicker but it blends the flavours. Oh, all right then,' she sighed as she gave in and crossed it off her list. Frowning again, Hermione continued to chew on her pen. What she needed... what she needed was a sugar quill. No; she shook her head at herself. She couldn't let herself be distracted. This was important. She and her mother had dealt with problems in this way since her childhood, and she knew there had to be a solution here somehow.  
  
'Aha!' she said, scribbling away. 'He likes snakes. I hate snakes. Twenty-seven.'  
  
'Against twenty-eight, I'm afraid,' Penelope said, and slightly sheepishly offered her list for Hermione's perusal. Hermione looked down and saw, in her mother's neat scipt, '28. Good in bed.' She blushed brightly and sent her mother an embarrassed look.  
  
'You- you have no way of knowing that's true,' she said.  
  
Penelope shrugged. 'You would have been rather more uncomfortable today if he wasn't, darling. Besides, there's a certain look of - *relaxation* that has only a few causes, I've found.'  
  
Pursing her lips, Hermione laid her pen on the table. There was simply no answering that, and she couldn't think of another con. For now.  
  
'How about leaving this, for a while?' her mother suggested. 'As much as you may want to resolve it, I think our lists aren't helping you with this particular problem. Anyway, it's almost dinner time.' Both women put their lists aside with an identical frown. John Granger, as if by some intuition, chose that moment to reenter the kitchen and suggest a cup of tea.  
  
'The problem is,' Penelope said when the three Grangers were sitting around the table sipping tea, 'not every dilemma can be solved with a list.' Her husband became suddenly interested in the pattern of the wallpaper next to him.  
  
Hermione frowned. 'Perhaps. But I still don't...' She frowned again. 'Perhaps you're right.' She sighed.  
  
'Perhaps you should simply leave it to observation,' Penelope suggested. 'You both live in the same castle. Give yourself time to decide about him.' John Granger, having by now spent an inordinate time studying the kitchen wallpaper, had moved his attention to the tablecloth. On the mention of the word 'him' his lips thinned, and he returned to the wallpaper with studiousness unsurpassed by even Hermione studying for her NEWTs. Neither women noticed.  
  
Hermione sighed again and set her cup of tea down, her movements signalling a close to the conversation. She stood.  
  
'Must you be leaving so soon?' John ventured as the women both stood and Hermione reached for her coat. She nodded.  
  
'Sorry, Dad. I really must get back. But I'll come for a longer visit soon, I promise.'  
  
At the door, her mother gave her a hug. 'Darling, you could simply let things move along naturally. Try him on, so to speak.' She put her hands on her daughter's shoulders and gave her a serious look. Hermione merely gave her another hug and made her goodbyes.  
  
As the two parents stood on the doorstep, both wearing the slightly stunned expressions they always wore after seeing their daughter disappear into thin air with barely a 'pop,' John put his arm around his wife's shoulders.  
  
'So, who is he?' he asked.  
  
'Just Hermione's surly ex-teacher who's only slightly younger than you, dear,' his wife answered.  
  
John remembered why it was so important for his sanity to stay out of these mother-daughter issues, and waited calmly until his wife was inside before bashing his head against the wall.  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore let the pacing outside his office door continue for a few moments. He had performed the old mirror-under-the-door trick a few moments ago and so knew his early morning visitor was his esteemed potions master. Again.  
  
At least this time the man had waited until it was merely an abnormal hour before visiting. Earlier this morning, his visit had been at a rather unreasonable hour, even if his concern over Miss Granger's whereabouts was understandable. And the visit *before* that, at which time Severus had merely tentatively inquired about the problem he and Miss Granger had encountered at some time during the night, had been completely inconsiderate of an old man's need for rest. It was a good thing, Dumbledore thought to himself as he rose to open the door, that he was only one hundred and six. An older man could never put up with the rigours of running a school such as Hogwarts.  
  
'Ah, Severus,' he said as he opened the door. After all these years, the potions master had grown somewhat used to his headmaster's tricks, but Dumbledore was gratified to see a slight glimmer of surprise in Snape's eye when the door had opened without him even knocking.  
  
'Albus, have you-'  
  
'Now, now, Severus,' Dumbledore said, patting the younger man on the shoulder and gently guiding him toward the stairwell. 'Miss Granger is perfectly safe and well, and at her parents' home. Possibly having breakfast as we speak. Speaking of which...' The gentle urging toward the stairwell became less gentle as the headmaster thought longingly of blueberry pancakes and bacon.  
  
'Are you certain that-'  
  
'Severus,' Dumbledore said sternly. He caught the glance Snape gave him, the one of relief-tinged-with-awe that he was given every time he pulled out the psychic stops, and inwardly sighed. If only people would use their brains more often, they would see how much could be accomplished with a simple spell and logic; in this case, a locator spell and the knowledge that young things often run to their mothers in times of confusion.  
  
As he ushered the potions master down the stairs, the door to the headmaster's office closed and locked itself silently.  
  
***  
  
It really was, Hermione reflected as she walked down the path from Hogsmeade, a sickeningly perfect day. The birds were singing, the flowers blooming and scenting the air with their various perfumes, and bright little fairies with shimmery wings were certain to pop out at any moment and sing to her.  
  
If they did, she had decided, she might just go and stomp on them.  
  
This was definitely not the kind of day she needed to indulge her present mood. What she needed was a good old gothic windstorm, the kind the Bronte sisters delighted in describing. It shouldn't be so damned sunny and happy when she needed time to brood.  
  
She spent a good five minutes of her walk debating on the best way to make Mary Poppins pay for all those cheery bluebird associations - the damned woman had been a witch, and had managed to breed a species that went into exstacies over singing in harmony with humans, apparently, before someone had put a stop to it - before she realised how much her mind wanted to avoid thinking about the Snape Situation.  
  
The most frustrating thing was the way logic ran away from her with this situation. The thoughts in her head were disordered, resisted categorisation. There was too much wrapped up in her head to extract any sense of the situation.  
  
Senses... Hermione groaned and rubbed her forehead at the thought of the word. It set off too many associated thoughts. It brought thoughts of Severus' little speech at the start of every new first-year class, which led to his fascinating way with sibilants, and then to the fascinated way he had made her say his name again and again... Hermione shook her head. This was not good. She couldn't even get past his voice, let alone... other things.  
  
And those other things were quite amazing themselves. She had run off like a frightened child the second his back was turned, and the running since then had prevented her from having time to remember the incredible sensations he had provoked in her. If the reactions she was feeling now were anything like normal for a person to feel after making love, she wondered how on earth married couples ever managed to get to work in the mornings. Here it was, almost twenty-four hours after The Event, and she still trembled at the thought of him. And she had innocently thought that making love was supposed to *satisfy* desires.  
  
'Hmph,' Hermione said aloud. Even the memory of the man was making her... uncomfortable. How was she supposed to think in this state?  
  
The thing was, desire wasn't the entirety of it. She remembered lying in his arms, peacefully drifting with sleepiness, and remembered how it had been the single most satisfying experience of her life, something she could have happily spent eternity doing. Sinking in their mutual warmth, breathing in the scent of him, feeling so completely wrapped up in him and he in her, had been a perfect moment, extended timelessly. She had never known what pleasure a hairy arm could bring when it was wrapped loosely around her.  
  
Hermione sighed, and flicked her wand at a bush as she passed. It was all too difficult. What she really needed was time.  
  
Next to her, a telltale flicker of fairy wings appeared from a bush, and a smiling little face began to open its mouth.  
  
She stomped on it.  
  
***  
  
The cold damp dark of the dungeons did little to soothe the savage beast that dwelled within them, but Dumbledore had ordered him down there at about morning tea time until he calmed down, and the beast had to admit that the headmaster was probably right.  
  
The beast was, of course, one Severus Snape. The title had landed on him three minutes into breakfast when he had made what was, upon reflection, an unfortunate comment to Minerva and she had replied with a few pointed remarks of her own, of which 'beast' was the most suited to polite conversation and possibly the only justified one. Severus certainly didn't recall performing the acts with his grandmother that Minerva had insinuated, anyway.  
  
It was just his luck to have caught the usually prim Head of Gryffindor after she had spent a restless night with Poppy tending to some particularly sensitive plants Sprout had left in their care, and also his luck that his colleague had already learned, from Dumbledore presumably, of Hermione's sudden disappearance. Several of her threats had served to inform him that she had guessed the reason for Hermione's disappearance. If not that, then Minerva had become uncharacteristically thoughtful of Snape's future romantic partners when she had warned that she would charm certain parts of his anatomy off if others didn't apparently have a use for them.  
  
After that, Dumbledore had stepped in and - rather unfairly, Snape thought - sent him to his room. It was typical that Minerva hadn't been punished at all. Anyway, he'd barely even pointed his wand at her. He could have just been reaching for it to scratch his neck, or something. Dumbledore couldn't have known that he was about to hex the transfigurations teacher into a pair of bunny slippers. It was quite unfair.  
  
Having had a good five hours of pacing to calm down, though, Snape had to admit that being sequestered to his rooms had been a good idea. After desperately searching for Hermione half the night - he tried, unsuccessfully, not to remember that he had spent the other half of it making love to her - he had been in quite a state by breakfast, though his usual dour demeanour had covered it. He had needed this time in his rooms, to calm his mood. And he had. He had calmed his worry and had instead got good and angry.  
  
Oh, he hadn't slipped straight from worry to anger. Or rather, he had, but that had been a different kind of anger. He had first slipped into the anger that comes after worry, the one that emerges with the realisation that the person causing the worry would undoubtedly be all right, and that it was they who were causing all this unpleasant sensation. From there, he had slowly slipped into a sort of melancholy, spent in half an hour's staring at the empty fireplace and reflecting that the poor girl was right to run from an ugly beast like him. That mood had given way to another type of worry, this time over her state of emotional well-being (he had read that term in some Gilderoy-Lockhart-esque book titled 'Feelings.' It had been on the Malfoys' hall table one visit) and reflecting on what could have caused her to flee like that. When he had failed to come up with an acceptable reason for her leaving his mood had again turned to anger. It had pulsed a few times now, moving from a rage to a cold burn, and right now it was tinged with sadness.  
  
The main fact of it was that she had gone. And she had not yet returned.  
  
Severus sighed. Some primal part of him wanted to punch something, but he was far too refined for that. He had settled for a tumbler of whisky instead, but hadn't felt really like drinking it. What he felt like was yelling at Hermione, but it just wasn't as much fun when she wasn't here.  
  
He flopped ungracefully into a chair and glared at nothing in particular. Well, he was certainly the Beast, and he, at least, could picture Hermione as Beauty. They had followed the story, in a way; poor Beauty, stuck in a remote castle with the Beast. Having their company forced on each other, they had fallen... he would settle for the word 'fallen,' for now, not particularly comfortable with the extension of that phrase. That was about as far as it went. There would be no magical transformation of the Beast, and Beauty had positively fled from the castle. Of course, if he was to examine the original story more closely (that terrible muggle firm Disney had mangled it almost beyond recognition, he knew) there was a distinct lack of fathers invading his castle first and no wicked sisters, either, but he decided to ignore that in the interest of poetic effect.  
  
Snape shook his head. Obviously, the damp darkness of the dungeons was rotting his brain. The romantic man dwelling on fairy tales was one step away from humming cheerful tunes, and then there would be nothing for it but several years in St Mungo's, or a sledgehammer. Preferably both, in reverse order.  
  
He spent the next few minutes gleefully ruminating on exactly how the hypothetical romantic man could be punished for his soppiness, which gave him some interesting ideas for future detentions with students before his mind was forced back on the situation at hand by a reminiscence of a particularly nasty detention he had once given Hermione. He bit back a curse and began to pace once more. He only wished he could give her detention for this little stunt. He was uncomfortable with the unfamiliar sensation of simultaneously wanting to grasp her as tightly as possible and also wanting to wipe her from his mind completely. All the feelings of the past few hours were more agonising than any physical torture, and he was in a position to know. Curse her, he finally settled on thinking, curse her for the child she was. Her immature reactions to adult occupations were not worth his time. After all --  
  
Dumbledore walked into the room and caught him mid-sneer, and Snape was forced to quickly compose his expression into one of calm politeness. He didn't want to be stuck in the dungeons all day, after all, the familiar comfort of them melting away under his frustration and fury. The end effect settled into a rather stupid frown of confusion, but he had little time to reflect.  
  
'Ah, Severus, I see you have had time to get over your little tantrum. I was wondering if you would care to join us for dinner.'  
  
Snape bit back the rejoinder such a patronising statement deserved, and grimly nodded his head, following the headmaster out the door.  
  
Dumbledore made small talk as the two of them headed for the dining hall, and Snape took his usual position of disinterested silence until a familiar word made its way into the old man's patter.  
  
'-and now that young Hermione has returned from her little trip, we can-' the headmaster was saying.  
  
'Hermione what?' Snape asked, snapping to attention. 'When did she return?'  
  
'Just now,' the old man answered. 'I spotted her making her way across the grounds just as I was walking to get you, in fact.' There was an annoying twinkle in the old man's eyes that made Severus want to headbutt him, but he refrained.  
  
'So she may have only just entered the castle?' he asked with the calm of one addressing an idiot.  
  
'I would suppose so,' Dumbledore replied. Severus nodded his thanks and moved off down the hall. Dumbledore waited a few moments before adding, 'She was heading for the eastern door, I believe.' As Snape changed direction and passed by the old man again, whose eyes were now merry with undisguised humour, he only just managed to suppress the urge to stomp on his foot on the way past.  
  
Hermione had indeed chosen to enter by the eastern door, but she had got as far as the central hallway before Snape was able to catch up with her. As several of the staff had gathered there on their way to dinner, Snape was forced to adjust his demeanour to something more like casual as he walked forward to address her.  
  
'Miss Granger,' he said, ignoring Minerva's glare as he stepped forward. 'I was wondering if I could-'  
  
'Not now, Severus.' Hermione cut him off with an apologetic but firm look, and nodded at Minerva. 'Thank you for your concern, Minerva, but I really do need to head up to my rooms. Good evening, both of you.' With that, the young witch broke away from the group and headed for the staircase leading to her rooms. Snape stared after her, dumbfounded and quite unconscious of the censorious look McGonagall sent him.  
  
The other staff began to move in the direction of the great hall, but Snape hung back. All the cold fury he had been working up had subsided when he had actually seen her. Now the worry was back again. There was something about her small frown as she had looked at him.  
  
Not really thinking, Snape began to follow her up the stairs.  
  
Last night I dreamed that I was dreaming of you  
  
And from a window across the lawn I watched you undress  
  
Wearing a sunset of purple tightly woven around your hair  
  
That rose in strangled ebony curls...  
  
I hear your champagne laugh  
  
You wear two ebony orchids, one in your hair and one on your hip  
  
A string of yellow carnival lights comes on with the dusk  
  
Circling the lake in a slowly dipping halo  
  
And I hear a banjo tango and you dance into the shadow of a black poplar tree  
  
And I watch you disappear, I watch you disappear...  
  
-Tom Waits, 'Alice'  
  
Insanely long author's notes:  
  
MyinnerHermione, angel-g2001, OtherHiccup, Katie102, Udomiel, snapefan, Richal, jadeey, wizardingdilemma, klinglon1701, PinkChubbyMonkey, Iarejedi, LauraJo, Igardiner, Emotional Malfoy, Valkyrie Nienna Helyanwe, uberscully, Shannon, KET, Tephra, Lindsey, Ruthia, Alexial, Joani, Heather, wrenbirdy, Ezmerelda, crystalclear8050, Lisbeth, sweeteyangeline, Neveada, Dame Niamh, steph, Charma1219, tosh, Shelob: Sorry to lump you all together, but just wanted to thank you all for reviewing and putting up with my irregular updates.  
  
Lady Lothian: glad I made you laugh. Thanks for reading.  
  
QueenoftheDamned3: Thanks for the heads up regarding the summary (although, technically, the word 'ass' in the English language primarily denotes a type of donkey. but that's a bit pedantic).  
  
Marston Chicklet: Eloquent as ever, I see. Thanks for the spooky music.  
  
Katharina Dreamer: Sorry about the cliffhanger. I didn't plan it way, if that's any consolation, it just happened.  
  
beatrice2005: thanks for the reassurance on the sex scenes. I was a bit worried.  
  
Jaxxine: thank you for reading and I hope your teaching goes well.  
  
Stella by Starlight: I'm sorry, but I don't think Ailie will be making a return appearance. Not that I don't miss her, too, but part of the idea of her leaving was to emphasise the fact that sometimes people have to leave, and they can't come back. I don't know, it's just something I feel happens a lot in the wizarding world. Sorry. But I'm glad you're enjoying the story anyway.  
  
Nikki: I'm glad I made you laugh, and I hope your mum didn't wake up. Thank you for your compliments.  
  
Morwen: Thank you for checking up on me. I was slightly stressed when I came across your review and it was nice to read. But don't worry, I'm not the suicidal type, I'm not ill, and I always look both ways when crossing the road. As for your first review, you might find the whole soul-bonding thing clearer in this chapter. If not: they both panicked because they had such an emotional connection when they made love, and both assumed that it must be another soul-bonding, as it was a similar feeling. But, as Dumbledore gently points out and Hermione realises by herself, Ailie's blood would never have been able to do that for them. So, they're in. trouble. And Skippy the Bush Kangaroo is a kitsch, seventies Australian children's programme that was also shown in England (but obviously not America) about a kangaroo that helps people. Sort of an Australian Lassie.  
  
Savagepumpkin: no, Snape didn't confess to DD. I think the font stuffed up- Snape just thought that comment, but made up a flimsy excuse out loud.  
  
Belanna: It's amazing to me that someone in Germany is reading my work. I'm glad you gave the story another try. I have been told that Ailie was a bit annoying, and I understand the desire to see all SS/HG but I just couldn't write it that way (well, at least I couldn't write a story this long that way). I'm told by a friend that speaks German that Ailie would be pronounced 'ehli' (eh as in geht and li as in Juli)- I've just discovered how difficult it is to explain words for a language that has different vowel sounds (especially as Ailie is gaelic, and they have slightly different vowels to English as well!). Thanks for all your insightful comments, especially about the whole thing that some people didn't like at the start of the story (along the same line, I've stumbled into fanfics that have had a huge rape scene at the beginning, with no warning in the summary, and yet fewer people complained about that). I'm glad to hear you like Sting, too- do you know 'Moon Over Bourbon St'? It's very different to 'Russians', but it was inspired by Anne Rice's vampire chronicles and is very. shiver-y.  
  
Simone: Wow, yet another surprise, a reader in Switzerland. Thanks for reviewing, and for your support.  
  
Guss-Guss: Thanks for your review. I do actually write my own stories (and did a long time before I dipped into ff)- you can check some of them out on fictionpress.net if you feel like it.  
  
Matraeia: Thank you for reviewing so prolifically! It was really nice to get your comments on each chapter. I know, the old tired plotline of setting Herm up as a teacher annoys me too, but I just couldn't think of any other way to get all my favourite characters in one story (aside from setting it while H is in school, and that kind of icks me out. Not that there haven't been excellent stories written that way, but I just can't do it).  
  
dryade: I'm sorry you lost sleep but thank you for reading my story, and thanks for your wonderful comments.  
  
Michelle: I'm glad my story has been a better experience for you than some fanfic. I had basically the same experience when I first started reading (I think I must have just happened across some bad archives). Thank you for refraining from nagging.  
  
I-Love-Sevi: Thanks for the tea tip, and thanks for spending your day on my story (!). No, we do not have Tim Hortons in Australia. Doughnuts are not really that big a thing over here- just another type of cake, really. I think it would be very entertaining to see you try to charter a kangaroo- they can be moody bastards (but not nearly as nasty as koalas. Believe it, or not).  
  
Redstrawberry900: First of all, I wanted to apologise for not sending you the new chapters like I did with everyone else- I tried, but your email is nowhere to be found! Anyway, just wanted to let you know I tried. I'm glad I made your boyfriend laugh. It brings joy to my heart to give humour to the overly serious. I hope your ankle is feeling better. My partner was very happy to have got a review on his alternate ending (he's always picking on me for my Snape obsession, example: he is sitting next to me right now doing his Alan Rickman impression, which involves putting his head back and acting with his teeth. Watch Alan Rickman, you'll see he's a teeth actor, you'll see the reason for the impression. But that was the reason for his alternate ending- he loves the stories in which Snape gets harmed in some particularly horrible way). I'm also glad you enjoyed the darker chapter- I just wanted to explore that side of Snape. The poem at the end of the chapter was actually a song, by Tom Waits. If you don't know him, check him out. That song is off one of his recent albums titled 'Alice' (another song from that album ends this chapter) which is actually the soundtrack he wrote to a play about the guy who wrote Alice in Wonderland, and his relationship with the little girl who was the basis for the character of Alice. Whew. Convoluted explanation, but do check it out (he also released an album at the same time titled 'Blood Money' which I will no doubt quote one of these days, and that one was the soundtrack for a play based on the story of Woyzeck, an old German tale of a soldier who is deliberately driven mad as an experiment). I love those albums, so I tend to enthuse about them. The comment from Sirius in chapter 38 is also a quote from 'Alice', by the way, I'm not certain if I credited it.  
  
Sharkbait: Sorry to frustrate you. Hopefully the story will move along soon.  
  
EvilStoryPenguins: I LOVE THAT NAME. There's just something innately funny about penguins. Did you ever catch a cartoon called Avenger Penguins? Aah, sorry, just my twisted humour.  
  
Anamorph: I was actually inspired to make a sock comment because of all the hilarious sock jokes I've read in other fics. For instance, one had Snape bumping into Herm in DiagonAlley near christmas, and warning her not to knock his packages. She asks him why, and he replies that one of them, shrunken, contains 2000 pairs of multicoloured socks for Dumbledore. Hilarious. So yes, if I can think of anything original I will endeavour to put it in.  
  
grashopper: Why David Duchovny: I am as obsessed with that actor as I am with Alan Rickman, and my partner takes particular pleasure in devising unpleasant ends for the two of them.  
  
Arime Setta: I feel bad for the people who have been with me since day one, too. Thanks for reading.  
  
crystalseviltwin: I'm sorry you missed out on work, but thanks for your review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story.  
  
Me, myself and Eye: You had to point out the one thing I didn't want pointed out. I wasn't going to go into detail, but there are four ways it could have happened: Hermione called a house-elf, who apparated her (as house elves can apparate around Hogwarts, that's how they get around), she did the invisibility thing or she used a rather rare spell she had found in an old book at university that allowed mirrors and paintings to be used as portals. or number four, which I particularly favour, is she used the fireplace in his bathroom to floo to her own rooms. A fireplace in a bathroom, you say dubiously? Hogwarts is a very old castle, and in the days previous to modern conveniences such as running water (or indeed bathrooms) it was necessary to have fireplaces to heat water. Also, most rooms would have had one anyway in a privileged school such as Hogwarts, and let's face it, the dungeons haven't changed much since the Founders. So, truthfully, it's likely there would be one in the room now used for Snape's bathroom. But, honestly, Hermione didn't tell me when she was busily running away.  
  
kiki0303: Um. I hope it is clearer in this chapter, but Hermione disappeared because she was scared of what she was feeling, and basically needed to talk to her mum. Considering she just experienced a deep emotional connection, which is bloody scary anyway, if you've ever felt it, and with Snape of all people, it's an understandable reaction, hopefully.  
  
phreakreader: This chapter's not terribly entertaining, but there will be entertainment soon enough, don't worry.  
  
SlytherinQueen87: It's good to hear from you again. No, Herm's not mad (although she would be if she knew she'd just been called 'Herm'), just scared. See my note to kiki0303. And see the note above that for the bathroom explanation.  
  
Sinsortia: No, sorry. Atheist. But I did look seriously into wicca at one time, and it's one of my favourite religious systems. 


	41. Espionage 101

Dear readers who are still reading this and haven't given up on me altogether,  
  
Thank you for your patience. I have now finished the dreaded thesis and, as you can see, have more time to dedicate to SGH. If it gives you any comfort, the sacrifice of time to SGH resulted in me getting a First. So ner.  
  
I will try to post again over the Christmas period, but as I am going to be in England for the next few weeks (yay!) there might be some difficulty in doing this. In any case, happy generic holidays to you all.  
  
c.  
  
Disclaimer: Billy Jean is not my lover.  
  
Chapter Fourty One - Espionage 101  
  
It was when the pair, an unheeding Hermione followed by a stealthy Snape, entered the corridor in which Hermione's rooms resided that the latter wondered what he was going to do about the former. The tone of voice Hermione had used when she spoke to him indicated that she really did not want to talk at the present time, and he sensed that any further pushing on his part would do him no good whatsoever. However, he did want to ease his mind about her, and what he had seen so far was not giving him much to go on. As Hermione pushed open the door to her rooms, Snape could see only one course of action, to follow her. He could only hope she wouldn't sense him as he brushed invisibly past her.  
  
Once inside her rooms, Snape had time to wince at his decision. Certainly, he was worried about Hermione, but this was a breach of privacy that she would surely find unforgivable. There was, of course, only one option. He would just have to make sure he wouldn't be caught.  
  
This resolve was almost immediately ruined when he unthinkingly followed Hermione through to her bedroom and she began to undress. If he had had the warning that conventional undressing provided, things would have been fine, but apparently his speech on the uselessness of wand-waving had had little effect on at least one of his students, because this one removed all her clothing with a simple swish-and-flick. Luckily the sound of her movements covered his almost-choke. As Hermione walked casually into the bathroom, Snape had to lean against the wall for a moment. Even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since he'd been much more than looking at that body, the shock of it suddenly appearing before him, in a flash, as it were, was a lot to cope with. And, well... it had been rather dark last night. It was quite bright in the late afternoon sun.  
  
The sound of running water and the smell of steam soon emanated from the bathroom, and Snape had time to recover. He stood unmoving as he waited for Hermione to finish her shower, reminding himself that he was in the room only to ascertain that Hermione was in a suitable state to be left alone. These inward rantings almost kept his mind occupied away from images of water and steam... almost.  
  
Something on the bedroom's mantlepiece caught his eye. Two pieces of scrap paper, written out in an unfamiliar ink, though one bore handwriting that certainly could have been Hermione's. Snape's eyes narrowed. They looked like lists. In fact, as he moved closer, he discovered that they were indeed lists, which, if he was not mistaken, were debating the amourous potential of one Severus Snape. This wasn't any amazing piece of detection, as Hermione, methodical as always, had very neatly written, 'Reasons I Should Not Participate In A Relationship With Severus Snape.' The other list, written in slightly more flowery, cursory script, was evidently Reasons She Should, unless Hermione had suddenly developed an aversion to intelligence and - Snape raised an eyebrow - what he would now be forced to think of as No. 28.  
  
Remembering that Hermione was unlikely to remain in the shower indefinitely, Snape swiftly pointed his wand at the documents, whispered a replicating spell and, ensuring that the room looked exactly as it had been when Hermione had left it, silently exited her rooms.  
  
He had some thinking to do.  
  
***  
  
The next week passed in somewhat frustrating calm and normality. The calm came from the ease with which routine smoothed over any potential difficulties of situation, the necessity of work mowing over any discomfort as Severus and Hermione continued their researches with increasing aid from Dumbledore. Normality came from the rather reserved and professionally curteous way in which the two researchers conducted their work, neither avoiding nor seeking each other in any obvious way.  
  
The frustration came from the small group of observers watching all this with intense and calculating, if somewhat disappointed, interest.  
  
'Are you *certain* you can't do that thingy you always do and tell us what is really going on, Albus?' Minerva asked for perhaps the fifth time since the surreptitious meeting began. Her cup of tea sat forgotten on the small table beside her, rapidly becoming invaded with ants, but she failed to notice. The small group had been sitting in the sunny garden on Dumbledore's balcony discussing Severus and Hermione for a good twenty minutes with no new information.  
  
'Minerva, my dear, I am quite certain that the two of them will notify us if anything of importance should occur,' Dumbledore replied, risking a small twinkle for effect. His deputy headmistress was rapidly getting the look about her usually only seen when confronting certain troublesome students, but he rather enjoyed the pink shade rising in her cheeks.  
  
'Albus, if you do not desist in twinkling at me like that I will ensure that you become the first frog ever to headmaster Hogwarts,' she threatened.  
  
'Actually, Minerva, I think you will find that in 1462, for a period of three weeks-' Filius Flitwick's interruption was cut off by a swift glare sent his way, intended to convey the idea that impending frogdom was not a fate reserved solely for twinklers.  
  
'Now, now, Minerva, don't be that way,' Poppy Pomfrey consoled. Flitwick had been taken into their confidence about the Severus-Hermione situation after Hermione's birthday party, and was proving quite helpful in the way of suggestions.  
  
'She does have a point, Pops,' said Freya Hooch, biting down on a biscuit. 'It's damned infuriating to have to sit and wonder about it all when one of us has the gift of second sight.' She raised her eyebrows at Dumbledore.  
  
The headmaster shook his head sadly. 'That, I am afraid I do not have,' he said.  
  
'Oh, don't go all Yen on us Albus, we all know perfectly well that you have some sort of thingy that allows you to know everything that goes on in this place, whatever you call it,' Freya replied.  
  
'You know, we could just try talking to them,' Sirius suggested, lying on the grass beside Hooch. 'I think Hermione would Reveal All if I sat her down for a good long chat.'  
  
Hooch rolled her eyes, while Poppy diplomatically raised her eyebrows.  
  
'I fear that may not be the best plan, Sirius,' Filius suggested. 'If young Hermione had wanted someone to talk to, she surely would have sought one of us out by now.'  
  
'Besides, who would be able to weasel it out of Severus?' Minerva argued. 'Albus here is the only person he really talks to, and he's being about as cooperative as a wet badger.'  
  
'Decided that a frog is too difficult for you, my dear?' Dumbledore teased, adding a twinkle for good measure. He observed with pleasure the swift reddening of his transfiguration teacher's cheeks.  
  
'FRANCE, Albus! I'll frog you and then send you to France!' McGonagall had to be physically restrained by Poppy and Hooch, as Dumbledore quietly chuckled and Flitwick fell off his chair laughing. Sirius, with a disappointed look at the group, stretched in the sun. A moment later, he trotted away in dog form, sniffing his way around the garden with more interest than he had participated in the conversation.  
  
'The whole of the matter is,' said Flitwick once he had regained his chair,  
  
trying to ignore the mutters of, 'In a box marked "has nice legs"' coming from Minerva's direction. 'The thing is, we don't want to *force* confessions from the poor young things.'  
  
'Couldn't hurt,' muttered Hooch into her cup of tea. Poppy sent her a disapproving look.  
  
'I agree with Filius,' she said primly. 'Besides, last time we tried to force information out of Hermione, it was a disaster.' There was a sound suspiciously like a chuckle from the headmaster's direction, but he hid his smile in his tea cup as Minerva looked his way. Flitwick looked to the ladies with interest.  
  
'We took her out drinking, but she was... less than forthcoming with information,' Poppy explained diplomatically.  
  
'Didn't tell us squat,' said Hooch.  
  
'No,' agreed Poppy. 'However, that *was* the evening Minera caught Severus sneaking out of Hermione's rooms.'  
  
'Not that anything happened,' grumbled Hooch.  
  
'And neither of them would have told us if it had,' added McGonagall.  
  
The group shared a collective sigh.  
  
'Well,' said Poppy, 'perhaps we should all think on it, for a while.' The others nodded. Hooch stood, and went to fetch Sirius from the small copse of trees where he was chasing butterflies. McGonagall reached for her cup of tea and downed the remains in one gulp, which was quite startling for her but not quite as startling as it was for the large troupe of ants who had been happily migrating into the cup since the conversation had started. Dumbledore, who had been watching in anticipation of the moment for some time, quickly composed his face into an expression of concerned intrest in case the spluttering transfigurations teacher looked his way. She had never actually turned him into a frog before, but the last time he had seriously annoyed her he had spent the week with a distressing inclination to throw himself in ponds and craving flies.  
  
The others exited, and Dumbledore offered his Deputy Headmistress his arm as they strolled out of the garden.  
  
'"In a box marked 'has nice legs.'" Really, my dear,' he said as they walked through the door. McGonagall blushed. 'I never knew you liked my legs.'  
  
***  
  
The interested members of staff kept their collective watch on the pair in question, individually pinning their hopes on some remote event in the future that would draw the two together. A devious mind might have despaired less at the way the pair almost completely ignored each other when their professional duties didn't require them to interact. A deeper reason than interest in his food might have kept Snape from looking at Hermione's side of the room at mealtimes, and Hermione's usual cheerfulness might have been a little more brittle and preoccupied. However, whatever the interested parties saw gave them no hope, and nothing of interest to them occurred over the remainder of the week apart from an interesting flutter of owls for Hermione at breakfast time.  
  
If the staff could have possibly contrived to see the messages Hermione then read with an expression of apparently no more than polite interest, they might have become more devious.  
  
Herm, (the first message read)  
  
Was it my splendid imagination or did we discuss the possibility of your seducing our ex-Potions professor the other weekend? You've had a week now - spill! Don't need details, just tell me whether you can still pet unicorns, yea or nay.  
  
Hermione read this without so much as a quirk of the lips, and calmly pulled out a clean piece of parchment in reply.  
  
Gin,  
  
Yes, I can still pet unicorns, but then again so can you. You really should have payed more attention in Care of Magical Creatures, or Charms for that matter. The idea that only female virgins can approach a unicorn is a myth. There are several charms, and potions, for that matter, which calm the aura of the person approaching the unicorn enough for the unicorn to trust them. After all, Hagrid was able to look after them, and he's about as far from being a female virgin as you can get.  
  
I can provide you with a list of texts with information on the subject, if you wish to investigate further.  
  
H.  
  
Bright and early the next morning, a very streamlined owl zoomed in to the great hall and dropped a note in Hermione's tea cup, which promptly spilt all over the table. Without so much as blinking an eye, Hermione cleaned up the mess with a swish of her wand. The owl, which had begun pecking through the food on the table, was given a glare by Minerva, sitting only two seats away, but Hermione ignored it.  
  
Dear She Who Must Be A Smart Arse,  
  
I can see why Harry and Ron wanted to throttle you for most of their time at school. Stop messing around and give me a straight answer. Did you go through with our plan, or not?  
  
G.  
  
PS. I hope the owl widdles in your breakfast. I picked him out specially.  
  
Hermione pondered on this note for a few minutes, then pulled out a new piece of parchment and a quill. Ginny wanted a straightforward, simple answer to her questions, did she? she reflected. With a slight smirk showing on her features, she penned two simple letters in the middle of the parchment, folded it, grabbed the wandering owl by the scruff of the neck, and sent it off. Ginny wanted a straight yes or no answer, and she had got it. It wasn't Hermione's fault if Ginny had asked more than one question.  
  
The next morning, Hermione was not at breakfast. If she knew the Weasley temper (and after nine years, she did), her next letter from Ginny was probably going to either be a Howler or one of Fred and George's exploding letter surprises.  
  
She sat at her table near the window and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast. Though annoying a Weasley was always fun, she had her own reasons for avoiding answering Ginny's questions. She still didn't know what she wanted to do about the whole situation. Her original intention had been to just sleep with Snape, get it out of both of their systems, have a little fun and then be done with it. It had seemed quite logical.  
  
That, she supposed, had been her big mistake.  
  
***  
  
Snape stared at the papers sitting on his desk again. He had managed to concentrate on his work for almost two hours this time. The papers were slightly crumpled from the numerous times he had picked them up over the past week, only to glance at them and put them down again.  
  
The papers loomed. He hadn't known that papers could do that. Gallows, yes; terrifyingly evil magical overlords, yes; but two pieces of cream-coloured parchment that were slightly the worse for wear, no, they weren't supposed to loom. If anything, he would have expected them to lurk, but apparently not. They were sitting over there and definitely looming at him.  
  
Snape paused briefly to consider whether 'looming' was even a verb, decided it was, and went back to ponder the papers.  
  
His damnable memory had every point noted on each list embedded in his brain anyway. Sometimes a habit that had come in so handy in his career as a spy was a real bitch. A couple of glances at Hermione's quite thorough list of his bad qualities, and it was impressed on his mind as indelibly as a incredibly indelible thing.  
  
Snape gave up on puzzling about it and got down to some serious Brooding.  
  
***  
  
Hermione decided quitely to herself that she was, frankly, sick of dreams. This year had been plagued with them. The dream that had started it all hadn't been too bad, in retrospect, and some of the more... *complete* dreams since then had been quite nice. But when it got to the stage that her subconscious, of its own free will, was subjecting her to a conversation with her snotty-nosed eleven-year-old self, it was a bit ridiculuous.  
  
Perhaps it was because of the famous maturity with which Hermione had been graced from an early age, but she despised being reminded of younger versions of herself. It was amazing how the advantage of a couple of years, or months even, could reveal her former self's behaviour as embarrassingly childish. When faced with such a recollection, it had been Hermione's habit to blush brightly and silently assure herself she was now a much more sensible person and need not be ashamed of such growing pains.  
  
Now she was stuck in a room with such a recollection, she was sorely tempted, when she woke up, to find a time turner, travel back nine years and slap some sense into her eleven-year-old self. Or at least gag her.  
  
Since the moment she had found herself back in the Gryffindor common room of her earlier years, a young Ron and Harry busily playing chess before the fire, her ears had been assaulted by the high-pitched, smug- sounding voice of Young Hermione, who demanded to know everything while simultaneously announcing that she already Knew.  
  
The conversation thus far had consisted of Hermione revealing to her younger self that the thing troubling her was Snape, and her indecision of pursuing a relationship with him, to which Young Hermione had announced, Yuck, that was Gross, and giggled for ten minutes over the fact that Hermione had Seen Him Naked.  
  
Hermione was now at the point of simply joining Harry and Ron, who had remained insensible of the conversation, for their game of chess, when Young Hermione sobered up.  
  
'It's not going to be easy if you do decide to be with him, you know,' she said. Hermione looked at her thoughtfully.  
  
'I know that,' she said. 'Of course I've thought of that. There's the Death Eaters, and the fact that we're teaching at the same school, and-'  
  
'Not just that,' Young Hermione said in a tone that suggested the Older Hermione had lost a few brain cells along the way. 'What about Ron and Harry? You know they won't like it.'  
  
'Oh, I don't know. Ron and Harry are my friends, and-' Holding up a hand to halt her, the younger Hermione snapped her fingers. Instantly the two boys by the fire turned incredulously to Hermione.  
  
''Mione, are you kidding?' yelled Ron. 'You've gone mad! Snape hates us, he always has!'  
  
'You've got to be off your rocker, Hermione,' Harry said, shaking his head.  
  
'He must have drugged her, Harry,' Ron said, turning to his friend. 'He's given her a potion. We'll have to-'  
  
Young Hermione clicked her fingers again, and the two boys stopped their noise and returned calmly to their chess game, once more unaware of the two girls.  
  
'Do you think they won't act that way?' she asked.  
  
Hermione had to admit that the reactions from the older boys wouldn't be much different from their younger selves, although perhaps quiter. But perhaps not.  
  
'But they would come around eventually,' she insisted. 'They know Snape's not the monster we thought he was in school. Ron even defends him sometimes, now. And Ginny would back me up.'  
  
Young Hermione narrowed her eyes at her older self, a smug smile forming on her lips. 'Sounds like you've already decided.'  
  
Hermione sent herself a glare. Obviously her subconscious had it in for her, because she couldn't remember being this annoying when she was younger.  
  
'Well of course I'm leaning that way. If I wasn't incredibly attracted to him I wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place.'  
  
'Then you have to decide whether this attraction to him is more important than all the other considerations,' the younger Hermione said, folding her arms.  
  
'And how exactly am I supposed to do that?'  
  
'Do what you always do,' the younger girl said. 'Research and experiment. Duh.'  
  
Hermione frowned. 'I never said 'duh.' I've always thought it was a stupid expression.'  
  
Young Hermione rolled her eyes. 'I'm just a dream. I can't be expected to get everything right.'  
  
***  
  
The inmates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry were subjected to ghosts, ghouls, elves, changing stairways and walls dripping yellow-green goo on a daily basis, and so were used to a little strangeness in their lives. Still, the strange behaviour of at least one of their associates was enough to cause remark.  
  
On Tuesday morning, Hermione cornered Snape at the breakfast table, firing questions the rest of the staff were unable to hear until he got up and exasperatedly walked away. She then calmly took a small notebook from her robes and appeared to be taking notes.  
  
Another event was witnessed by Filch. He saw Snape walking down a corridor and was about to greet the potions master when a child's giggle sounded through the air. Snape immediately whipped around, an annoyed look on his face, trying to source out the noise. The giggle sounded again and Snape proceeded to take out his wand and walk up and down the corridor for the next ten minutes, apparently on the lookout for the offending child. Filch told the others that when the professor finally gave up and went on his way, Hermione appeared out of thin air, notebook in hand and a thoughtful expression on her face.  
  
Several more incidents were observed by various members of the staff. Professor Flitwick observed Hermione in conversation with Dobby one afternoon shortly before dinner. The dinner served that evening was such as one never seen before, even at Hogwarts; the house elves appeared to have explored the full possibilities of their kitchen, serving dishes of pate fois gras alongside such things as trout in marshmallow sauce, boeuf bourginon next to tripe curry. Of all the staff observing the incredible feast only Hermione appeared unsurprised (and also Dumbledore, who dug right into Duck a la Banana). Only Minerva noticed the appearance of Hermione's little notebook.  
  
'There was a grid,' she explained to the others as they met in the library's restricted section. They were spying on Snape, who was reading a book and trying to ignore them.  
  
'A grid?' asked Flitwick, peering through the shelves at Snape. He accidentally caught the man's eye, and quickly developed an intense interest in a book on fleas.  
  
'Yes,' Minerva answered. 'She had a little grid mapped out and every time he ate something, she would put a tick on it.' She folded her arms.  
  
'A tick,' mused Poppy.  
  
'Yes, a tick, you nitwit.' Minerva glared at her colleague. 'This meeting isn't going to get far if all everyone else does is repeat what I say.' Poppy looked slightly ashamed.  
  
'I wonder why she was taking notes at dinner?' Flitwick asked, looking around the group. No-one seemed to know, although, as expected, Dumbledore was twinkling madly.  
  
'I wonder why she's been taking notes full stop,' said Sirius in a disgruntled tone of voice. 'It's really weird.' By this time Dumbledore's knowing smile and twinkling eyes were really getting to McGonagall, who put her hands on her hips and turned to confront him.  
  
'Okay, Albus, let's get this over with.' She cleared her throat and adopted an innocent expression. 'Oh, dear, whatever can we do, now we shall never know the great mystery of Hermione's Notebook! If only there were some wise, knowing, and slightly annoying old coot who could help us?'  
  
Dumbledore's twinkling diminished slightly as he looked at his colleague. 'Sarcasm doesn't become you, Minerva. However-'  
  
He was cut off by Freya Hooch, who had been observing the scene with interest. 'I think it's rather obvious, really.' The rest of the group stared at her.  
  
'She's testing him,' she continued. The others continued to stare at her and she sighed dramatically, conveying an attitude of angelic forbearance in the face of ultimate ignorance. 'She's doing little tests to see if he's suitable for her. What he eats, what he likes to do, whether he's good with children-' She was cut short at this point by a loud snort from Poppy's direction. The mediwitch looked embarrassed and muttered an apology.  
  
'Whether he's healthy,' Hooch continued. 'You know, general stuff.'  
  
'How very odd,' said Flitwick. 'Sensible, but odd.'  
  
'Hermione does like to research,' Minerva said thoughtfully.  
  
They were unable to ponder further as the library door opened, revealing the other subject of their conversation. She looked around the library, settled her gaze on Snape, and strode over to him. Snape barely had time to look up before hermione grabbed him and fastened her lips to his. The onlookers watched in open-mouthed amazementas their surly potions master was thoroughly kissed. A few minutes later a somewhat flushed Hermione stood, nodded to herself and walked out of the library.  
  
'Well, that category's certainly going to get a big tick,' Hooch said loudly. Snape turned to look at the group, scowled, and got up to leave. The group watched until he was gone.  
  
'She certainly is thorough,' said Flitwick.  
  
'I really, really, really, really, really,' said Sirius, 'really don;t want to see that ever again.'  
  
'Come now, Sirius, you seemed eager for the two of them to be together before,' Dumbledore chided.  
  
'I was eager for Hagrid and Elsa to get together, too, but that doesn't mean I wanted to hang around and watch them at it,' replied Sirius. The group gave a collective shudder.  
  
'Yes, well, I'm sure we all regret that incident in the Great Hall,' Dumbledore said with a reflective look. 'Nevertheless, it is good to see them making progress.'  
  
'If you can call this progress,' muttered Hooch darkly.  
  
End notes:  
  
'Pas sans mon poulet' means 'not without my chicken.' I don't know much French, but I ensure that what I do know is incredibly surreal, just to freak les Francais qui peu out. 


	42. A waltz

After a week of research, there was quite a sheath of notes, and Hermione surveyed them with pleasure. There was always something about a pile of notes that excited her.  
  
Of course, this pile of notes was more exciting than most. It held what was possibly her future in it.  
  
'Miss Granger, if you would kindly pay attention,' Snape suggested bad-temperedly from the other side of the mountainous stack of paper. He reached up and took one of the pieces of paper, eyeing it interestedly.  
  
Of course, it wasn't just her future that was involved. Hermione felt that with the research she and Snape had conducted over the past week (while they were avoiding each other, but she ignored that) an application for their dream concoction was near at hand.  
  
'I say we present this to Dumbledore,' Hermione suggested. What they had at present wasn't the dream-control potion, but it was almost as good, and in some ways better. After their last experiment, Snape had been uncomfortable with the idea of invading her mind again, and this had brought up the question of whether the project was a good idea at all. Plenty of weapons had been utilised by the other side in war time, and neither Hermione nor Snape liked the idea of Voldemort having access to people's subconscious minds.  
  
The current potion had much less potential to harm, but Hermione suspected it could be even more effective. They had stayed with the idea of altering the dream potion, but had concentrated on the frustrating aspects of it, in which the dreamer never quite got what they wanted. They had narrowed this effect down to two ingredients, but were still at the testing stage.  
  
It was for this reason that Hermione was not too surprised at Snape's answer.  
  
'Just what do you think that would achieve, Miss Granger? Aside from wasting our Headmaster's valuable time?'  
  
Hermione smiled, completely unintimidated. 'Well, it would achieve the aim of keeping him up to date, as he most particularly asked. But we can let it go if you wish, Severus.' She watched as Snape tensed slightly, then went back to his reading. It was the first time she had addressed him by his given name this week, but it was almost disappointing how easily she could unsettle him.  
  
Her personal research had finally come to a positive conclusion. The research itself had been annoyingly inconclusive - while Snape was in perfect health, and shared many of Hermione's interests, he unfortunately ate trout. And was a Death-Eater spy. Hermione, best friend of Harry Potter, Boy Who Attracts Ridiculously Dangerous Situations, felt she could cope with the latter, as surely one day it would change, but she feared Snape was a trout-eater for life.  
  
It was the time away from Snape that decided things for her in the end. She missed him. It was as simple as that. Somehow, she managed to pine for things she shouldn't really have had time to get used to, like his scent and the feel of the stubble along his jaw. When she stepped back from herself, she found it funny that silly things like the feel of a jaw made her addled brain willing to look past the difference in their ages and temperaments, and the possibility that he might be dead next week. Simplicity.  
  
She watched Snape covertly as he read. Of course, having almost completely ignored him over the last couple of weeks, she might meet with a small amount of resistance when she made her intentions clear to him. This was precisely why she had no intention of letting him speak. She had finally decided to put Ginny's 'jump on him' plan into effect. It was the precise timing that was worrying her. Luckily, he had agreed to go over their notes in her rooms, and the gentle summer breeze drifting in at the windows had a calming, lulling effect that seemed to have relaxed Snape. Hermione smiled wickedly to herself. Of course, that wasn't the only benefit of her rooms - she was also counting on the unsettling nature of being in unfamiliar surroundings to further confuse her prey. All she needed was a little hesitation on his part and hopefully logic would disappear. If they were in the dungeons as usual, there was a fair chance he'd react instinctively and push her away.  
  
Which led her on to the hard part. When to pounce? All the preparation in the world, she felt, couldn't give her a satisfactory answer to that. She had originally planned to drop a quill somewhere near him, allowing her to get in a suitable position to kiss him. Now she was actually in the situation, she could see that that simply wouldn't work. It would look suspicious, contrived.  
  
With a frown, Hermione got up to pace, glancing down at Snape's bowed head occasionally. She supposed she could lean over his shoulder to read the parchment he held, but that seemed too coquettish for her taste, and besides which, she knew from experience he hated people reading over his shoulder and was likely to complain. Perhaps-  
  
She glanced down to see Snape glaring at her with an annoyed expression.  
  
'Miss Granger-' he began. With a mental shrug, Hermione pounced.  
  
***  
  
Snape was confused, and a little bedazzled. He had merely been going to ask Miss Granger to stop her pacing, which was distracting him from his reading, when he suddenly found himself with a lapful of Hermione. He wasn't really sure how he had got into this position. Usually terse requests for the cessation of an action resulted in a snappy comeback from the wench, not enthusiastic leaps into his lap. It was certainly a change, but not, he reflected as he savoured the feel of her drugging kisses, one he would be complaining about in the near future.  
  
It was only when Hermione's skilful lips had moved toward his neck and her hands began to wander that sense flashed a fin in the muddy waters of his brain.  
  
'Miss Granger-' Lips reached their target, and the higher brain function necessary for speech shut down. Snape closed his eyes with a groan, trying to remember what he had been talking for, anyway.  
  
The lips moved up again, showering his face with kisses, and the small amount of breathing space allowed thought once more.  
  
'Miss Granger-' This time, the words were cut off, kissed forcefully away. Snape had to credit Hermione, she did make a kind of enquiring noise in answer, which was better than he was up to at that moment. The kiss she gave him left no room for enquiry, and he was otherwise occupied for several moments.  
  
The niggling thought that had been biting at him ever since Hermione landed in his lap would not give up, and attacked him at his weakest moment. With a shudder he recalled the twenty-seven reasons he shouldn't be doing this. Pulling away did not seem to be an option, however; Hermione simply wouldn't let him go. His body didn't seem too keen on the idea, either, hands not responding to commands seeming to hold her even tighter.  
  
Finally Snape summoned the strength to end the kiss, grasping Hermione forcefully by the shoulders to do so.  
  
'Hermione. Please.' The rawness of his voice seemed to have some effect on the dazed angel before him, and she looked at him seriously.  
  
'Hermione, we have to stop.' A confused look came over her face, and Snape ran a weary hand through his hair. He couldn't think like this. He stood, barely remembering to set Hermione on her feet as he did so, and wrapped his thick robes around himself. The sudden absence of Hermione's warmth made the night feel cold.  
  
He glanced over at Hermione, who was looking rather distressed at the abrupt halt to proceedings, and ran a hand over his face. He had to hold on tightly to those twenty-seven reasons.  
  
'This is a bad idea,' he said. When no answer came, he looked up to see Hermione raising an eyebrow.  
  
'It seemed like a fairly good one until a few minutes ago,' she said. Snape nodded, surprised, then shook his head.  
  
'No, it's a bad idea,' he said. Her calm manner in the face of delayed passion unsettled him greatly. 'An entirely bad idea. You think so yourself, if you only take a few moments to... calm down.'  
  
'No, I don't,' she answered.  
  
'What?'  
  
'I don't think it's a bad idea.' It took a few moments for this comment to settle into Snape's brain, and he frowned.  
  
'You don't think it's a bad idea to just...' he waved a hand at the room, attempting to convey the rashness of the situation without words, and failed. He frowned again. Years of dealing with all types of difficult situations gave him no help in dealing with an obstinate young woman who appeared to want to have sex with him. Strange, he would have thought dealings with dark lords would have ranked as *slightly* more difficult.  
  
He tried again. 'Hermione,' he said, fixing her with a serious look, 'you don't think tripping over and falling into my lap and snogging each other senseless as a consequence is a bad idea?'  
  
Hermione put her hands on her hips and studied him. 'I rather thought it was a good idea. I'll admit that the tripping bit was a little contrived, but I thought perhaps you might have been willing to overlook it in the circumstances.'  
  
Snape put his hand over his eyes and shook his head. This conversation was becoming surreal. 'Hermione, it is simply not a good idea to follow the inclinations of the moment. If you'll take time to think, you will see that.' He had to admit, he could sympathise with the obviously befuddled girl. It was only by strength of will that he hadn't thrown her down on the carpet and ravished her by now.  
  
'I agree that diving rashly into a situation is rarely wise,' Hermione said, still studying him.  
  
'Then you'll see that this situation is unwise.'  
  
She shook her head. 'On the contrary. I put many hours of planning and thought into this.'  
  
Snape stared at her for a full three seconds before he remembered to close his mouth. He opened it again, in the hope that something intelligible would come out of it, but failed.  
  
'You - planned this?'  
  
'Yes,' replied Hermione. 'Quite carefully. Apart from the tripping bit, I decided on that at the last moment.'  
  
It was such a turnaround of all he had assumed that Snape was at a loss on how to proceed. He decided, however, that simply staring at the girl was unproductive.  
  
'I need to sit down,' he said, and regained his seat. Hermione nodded, but remained standing, a position that made Snape distinctly ill at ease, wanting to have the advantage of towering over her once more. He settled for staring at her feet for a few moments while he collected his thoughts before he stood again.  
  
'Nevertheless,' he said with renewed confidence. Hermione raised her eyebrows in encouragement, and he lost his train of thought. He covered it by clearing his throat. 'Nevertheless-'  
  
'You already said that,' Hermione interrupted, a glint of amusement in her eyes. Snape growled and waved his hand at her.  
  
'Be quiet, you silly girl.' He groaned and put a hand over his eyes. This was not going as smoothly as would be convenient. 'This is precisely what I mean. Regardless of whether it is spontaneous or planned, such interaction between us is impossible. I realise we have yet to discuss the situation that occurred between the two of us some weeks hence, for which I take full responsibility. The effects of alcohol can never be underestimated, particularly when coupled with the disrupting environment to which you have been exposed recently and I am entirely at fault for not taking that into account. However, the cool and sober thought to which you have had recourse in past weeks will have shown you, as it has me, the unwisdom of pursuing such a course again.' He took a deep breath, glad to have dealt with the matter clearly and succinctly.  
  
Hermione crossed her arms and leant against the table, a studious look on her face. 'You know, Severus, that sounded like a lecture one would give to a classroom of lawyers,' she said, sending him a calculating look. 'It's a good thing I'm given to browsing the dictionary every now and again, or I shouldn't have understood half of it. But well done, all the same.'  
  
Snape felt his hands curl into fists of frustration. 'I'm glad I am entertaining you. This, however, was not my design. I am merely attempting to make clear to your questionable intelligence the ill-advised nature of allowing desires to overrule logic and reason.'  
  
Hermione sighed, uncrossing her arms. 'Severus, so far what I've heard from you is this: you think that the only time I could possibly think of seducing you is when we accidentally come into physical contact and I am somehow overcome by desire, or when I am distraught and drunk. Oh, and of course, the appearance of reason should also be distrusted as it is also clouded by desire.' She raised her eyebrows. 'Forgive me Severus, but I detect a running theme here. I'm not sure what I have done in the past to make you think that I am a person completely controlled by her passions, but I feel this is a misunderstanding that needs to be cleared up.' Her expression changed to something more cunning, and Snape shifted nervously. He didn't like the change in the tone of this conversation.  
  
Hermione took a step closer, and Snape tensed up. She smiled, and his sense of unease grew.  
  
'I think at this point in time it would be a little useless to deny that I find you attractive,' she said, a slight blush creeping across her cheeks. 'I am, however,' she continued, recovering slightly, 'entirely capable of rational thought.' When Snape gave no reply, she narrowed her eyes at him and added, 'Perhaps I should demonstrate.' She stepped forward.  
  
Seeing her intent, Snape took a step back, neatly placing a rather solid chair between them and ignoring her snort of disgust.  
  
'That will not be necessary,' he said, with as much command as he could muster. He sighed. It was time to abandon a reasonable attitude. 'Hermione,' he said, fixing her with a firm look. 'You have to admit-'  
  
'There is a lot of assuming going on here,' she muttered, and crossed her arms. 'I don't have to admit anything. Will you please accept that I am a rational human being capable of making decisions?'  
  
'Fine,' Snape said, fed up with the whole conversation. She was just making it even more difficult than it was. Damn Gryffindors. 'Then allow me to say this: this, whatever it is, is not going to happen. I will not allow it. Now, please respect my wishes and confine your behaviour to that appropriate for colleagues, nothing more.' She was staring at him now, and he felt a little bad about having to make such a blunt statement, but it had to be done. Better this now, he thought, than giving into a little comfort only to have it ripped cruelly from them both.  
  
Hermione dropped her eyes from his, appearing to meekly study the carpet. 'As you wish, Severus.' She looked back up at him, her face calm but solemn.  
  
Unable to withstand the situation any longer, Snape gathered up his papers and bade her goodnight. He could feel her eyes on him as he closed the door.  
  
Damn, damn, damn those straightforward Gryffindors. They didn't even have the decency to be scared off from a difficult situation when they saw one. Snape strode down the deserted corridors, fuming at the world in general. If only she'd been a Hufflepuff... no, he wasn't going to even consider that scenario. He shook his head. This was the state he was in, all because of a Gryffindor. Curse them all.  
  
He swept down the corridor, cursing all Gryffindors and the impulsive gestures they made. They were impossible.  
  
No matter how much one might want them.  
  
***  
  
Hermione watched the closed door for a few minutes, then began to tidy up the notes still strewn on the table. This was... well, not an entirely surprising turn of events, but unexpected none the less. For some reason, the idea that Snape would refuse her outright hadn't really occurred to her. It was a silly oversight, she could see that now. It was Snape-nature to do what he had just done, though she was quite impressed with the strength of will it had taken to interrupt a fairly pleasant kiss and do it.  
  
What he had just done. She considered this for a moment, and then edged her way to a seat. She was a confident person in general but this was a bit of a blow by any standards. A man, who she had already slept with, had refused her. Quite strongly.  
  
With a frown, Hermione stood and walked across to the window, letting the cool night breeze brush her hair out of her eyes. The boys would have a good laugh at this. Snape, the greasy git, rejecting her advances. She didn't know which aspect would be more laughable for them.  
  
Her hands gripped the stones before she shook herself of her melancholy. She had allowed herself a moment of self-indulgence, but that was unproductive. Snape was attracted to her. There could be no doubt about that. She simply had to come up with a way to make that attraction outweigh whatever doubts he had. She frowned. Whatever those were - she had no solid idea of what went on in his head.  
  
Hermione sighed and stood. This was indeed a setback, but she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing. Gryffindors were, after all, famous for their brave-heartedness, their loyalty, their persistence and not least their tendency to plunge idiotically into situations that were beyond hopeless. She had no idea what she would do, but she was certain a plan would occur to her sooner or later. As she headed for bed, she decided firmly that Snape had better watch out. 


	43. Sway with Me

Disclaimer: I am not, nor have I ever been, a fan of Australian Rules football.  
  
A/N: Hi everyone. Remember me? Yes, I am still alive. Yes, this is a new chapter. Wow. It's amazing, I know. I just wanted to take the chance to thank the people who reviewed the last chapter: you probably don't remember doing it as it was so long ago. However, you have my humble thanks.  
  
Don't get too excited about there being two chapters – the second one is really just a new scene (unfortunately no lemons either, sorry) and not really a whole chapter but it just didn't flow all in one. Also, it's not a cliff hanger: there will be no continuation in a sex scene for the next chapter after that. I just wanted to warn you not to get your hopes up. Feel free to imagine what a sex scene would be like, though. Here's a tidbit: Chapter 44 will be, if not full of lemon, at least a bit citrussy. Definitely at least a lime flavour. I am already writing it so it should be up soon.  
  
If you haven't read these notes and complain in a review, you have no one to blame but yourself.  
  
Sway with Me  
  
The next morning Hermione breakfasted in the Great Hall with an air of preoccupation reminiscent of her pre-exam student days. If she noticed McGonagall's repeated attempts at engaging her in conversation, she gave no sign. Nor did she snort at Dumbledore's first bad joke of the day (a Hogwarts staff tradition). Professor Trelawney, making a rare appearance at the table, talked to her for twenty minutes about her dream the night before without a reaction, an arrangement which was no doubt most satisfactory on both sides. As for Snape, the focus of her preoccupation, Hermione didn't even know if he had been at the table.  
  
She retired to her rooms in a similarly thoughtful mood, but by lunchtime had sorted out some idea of what she would do. The most frustrating thing was that Snape had made her promise to keep a professional distance. It would be fine if he broke through that barrier first, but she doubted that he would spontaneously assail her with physical affection. If she broke her promise, however, she didn't doubt that he would be down on her like a ton of bricks, moving even further away. At least at the moment she had the advantage of their joint project.  
  
The answer was, as usual, in the fine print of their agreement. He had asked that she keep her behaviour to that appropriate for colleagues. Technically, that meant behaving toward Snape in the same manner she did to the rest of the staff - which was a far friendlier manner than their previous association. No one could ever say that Hermione Granger overlooked technicalities.  
  
It was a simple plan, really, but she was certain it would work, in time. She planned to be friendly to him, exactly as friendly as if she was working with any other professor. She planned to smile at him - strictly in a friendly way - and say good morning to him and be generally nice in all their dealings together. There would be no accidental touches, no longing looks, and definitely no acknowledgment of any attraction between them.  
  
There was, of course, a strategy behind this. In her musings, Hermione had reflected that Snape would now expect a frontal attack. Gryffindors were famed for their straightforwardness, and she had been behaving commendably Gryffindorish so far. She had pounced on him, forced him to talk about things and generally appeared to be eager to have things all out in the open. The last thing he would expect was for her to completely forget about it; even if she had accepted his refusal there was sure to be some sign of loss, be it pouting or sulking or a stony silence. Behaving in a friendly but professional manner toward him reminiscent of a Playschool presenter was definitely not what he was expecting. It was not Gryffindorish. It wasn't even Slytherinish. It was just downright weird.  
  
In denying her, Severus Snape had gained a friend. It would drive him up the wall.  
  
Ultimately, something was bound to happen. She had not been exposed to Snape for eight years without learning something of his behaviour, and one thing she had learned was that he could not stand for things to be out of his control. If people failed to behave predictably in his presence, he poked and prodded at the situation until it presented a satisfactory answer. He abhorred mystery. He loved being able to look knowing and mysterious, and when that was taken out of his power it prompted action.  
  
Of course, it could merely provoke a shouting match, but seeing as that was what had created the whole situation between them in the first place, Hermione was willing to risk it.  
  
She put her plan into force that very afternoon, striding down to the dungeons to beard the beast in his den. It seemed like a good place to start.  
  
'Ah, Severus, there you are,' she said cheerily as she opened the door to his office. 'I've been looking for you.'  
  
Snape's head snapped up from his work, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Hermione withstood his glance, maintaining a sunny exterior. If she failed in any way today, then she might as well toss the plan out the window. Appearing affected at all by last night's conversation was not an option, so she smiled in the friendliest manner possible.  
  
'I was wondering if you had the time available today to go over the rest of our notes. We didn't get to them yesterday evening.' A reference to the night before should put him on guard, Hermione felt, but she didn't want to push it. Too much and he would think it was playing on her mind; too little and he might conclude she was avoiding it.  
  
Snape's eyes narrowed further, but he made no comment, merely nodding. Hermione nodded in return.  
  
'Shall we meet upstairs in ten minutes, then? You know where my rooms are,' she suggested, turning to go. She was halted by his voice.  
  
'Miss Granger,' he said, raising an eyebrow. 'I am not certain your rooms are an appropriate place for us to review.'  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows in a show of surprise, and shrugged. 'Well, Severus, it would be more convenient to continue reviewing our notes without interruption, but if you wish to study them down here I am sure we can shrink them and bring them down. Shall we?' She turned to go once more, and was again halted.  
  
'Miss Granger,' Snape began, adopting a stern pose, 'As willing as I am to drop my current occupation and go running about the castle I am afraid it is impossible at present. I ask that you run your errands for yourself.'  
  
This time, it was Hermione's turn to raise an eyebrow. For a man who was currently in a threatening situation, Snape certainly was in top form.  
  
'Very well, Severus. I am sorry to interrupt your work. Perhaps it would be more convenient if I were to begin reviewing the notes myself, and you may join me when you have the time?' She was oozing professional courtesy now, though it was hard to tell if it disturbed Snape. The man in question maintained a stern facade and folded his hands over his notes.  
  
'Miss Granger, you fail to understand my intention,' he said. 'I am busy at the moment, but will not be so if given a few moments to summarise my notes. It would be *convenient* and an economical use of our mutual time if you were to return upstairs to gather your notes while I finish. I hope that I am being clear enough.'  
  
Hermione parted her hands in supplication and nodded. 'Certainly, Severus. If you were feeling pressed for time, you only had to say. I will see you in a few minutes.' Dropping in another sunny smile for luck, she turned and headed back down the corridor.  
  
Only once she was in the main corridors did she allow herself a small smile of satisfaction. This was a very good start indeed. Though he had kept his usual snarky facade in place, Snape had shown some signs that he was perturbed. He had snapped at her, glared, and generally tried to get her out of his office. He had also kept moving down to a minimum, a sure sign that he was nervous, for Snape. It was working out well.  
  
That afteroon was spent in cheerful torment. Polite friendliness exuded from Hermione's every pore as the two went over their combined notes and strategised further experiments. By the time they broke up for the evening meal, Snape was snarky, irritable, caustic and generally in the same mood he was usually in after a fourth-year potions class, and Hermione felt satisfied.  
  
Over the next few weeks Hermione continued to implement her plan. Snape was subjected to a friendly, businesslike companion from nine o'clock every morning until six o'clock every evening, with an hour allowed for lunch. They included weekends in their schedule, though it eventuated that these days were a little easier, and usually occupied in discussion. The tension necessarily caused by past events between them slowly eased. Hermione was pleasantly surprised to find that Snape was capable of civil conversation, when his guard was sufficiently down, and he sometimes voluntarily spoke to her, an honour she had never seen publicly bestowed. Underneath all the armour, there was a civilised human being; an unlooked- for but pleasant bonus.  
  
The increased pace of their research meant that a prototype potion was ready for testing on a new subject. Despite Snape's objections both of them had been acting as test subjects until that point; when they finally had a potion ready to present to Dumbledore, testing on several members of the Order was suggested (not before a near-argument on the wisdom of testing the potion on the headmaster himself, who was an insistent volunteer). It was settled that the testing would take place at Grimmauld Place on a date when their two volunteers, Tonks and Arthur Weasley, could make it - which coincided with the third week of Hermione's plot.  
  
Which was a problem, Hermione reflected as she stared glumly at the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place. Here they were, working together in close quarters with three weeks' worth of intensive interaction under their belt, and Snape was polite, open and, when occasion called for it, even welcoming of her presence. As far as her strategy to get friendly with Snape went, it had been a roaring success. For Snape, this was unprecedented friendly behaviour.  
  
As far as her ultimate strategy went, in which she got to see a lot more than just the friendly side of Snape, her plan had failed dismally. Instead of driving him crazy with her tempting presence, their hours of research together had apparently made him quite comfortable with her. She had thought that a recreation of the circumstances leading up to... well, her birthday present... would produce a similar effect. They'd barely been able to be in a room together without burning up, before. Now, their work together was accompanied by a pleasant familiarity, almost as if she was working with - well, not Harry and Ron, because they always pestered her. No, it was like working with a friend.  
  
Hermione dropped her head to the table and groaned. A gods-damned *friend*, that was what she was to Severus now. And it was driving her batty. Severus had asked her to respect his wishes and she had agreed, knowing not to push things when he was unwilling. She had been willing to go slowly, let him come around in his own time - but that was when she hadn't been feeling quite this... desperate.  
  
Both Ginny and Ailie had warned her about this. She had never quite believed them, until now. Oh, yes, she believed them now. She had never known sexual frustration could be this bad. She was practically clawing the walls. No wonder Ron had been so grumpy after his first breakup with Lavender.  
  
The essential flaw in her plan was that she had counted on a certain set of circumstances to drive Snape mad with sexual desire for her. How had she overlooked the fact that the situation would have just the same effect on her? Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought, banging her head gently against the table. Three weeks of spending almost every minute of every day around him, pretending that things were normal, had intensified every feeling she had for him tenfold. Sometimes, it was just so difficult not to just reach over and...  
  
With a quick shake, Hermione lifted her head from the table and focussed her concentration. Idle daydreams were only likely to frustrate her further: a lesson learned from experience.  
  
It was evidently time for a plan B. Luckily, she had one. She hoped it worked, because she hadn't thought up a plan C. She hadn't been too eager to implement this plan so far. On one hand, it promised to be quite fun. On the other, it could completely blow up in her face and result in Severus never speaking to her again. Somehow, the promise of fun didn't weigh up so well. Unfortunately, there was a safety net. The unfortunate part was that it involved asking Minerva for advice, something Hermione knew the Deputy Headmistress was just slavering to do. It was the only way. With another groan, Hermione dropped her head back into the cradle of her arms on the table.  
  
She didn't hear the approach of the person who tentatively laid their hand at her shoulder, but the softly spoken 'Hermione' came as no real surprise. There was only one other person up, anyway. It didn't benefit the test for them both to stay up - Tonks and Arthur were experiencing a normal sleep, after all, and would only be able to tell them everything in the morning - but for some reason there had been an unspoken agreement that she and Snape would keep watch. She picked her head up from her arms and gave a wan smile to the object of her torment.  
  
'Hello. Subjects sleeping well?' she asked. Snape nodded and walked to the counter, pouring two cups of tea before taking the seat beside her. Hermione noted that he had poured hers just as she liked it - weak, and white - and sighed. If anything had been needed to prove her point, it was this. Who had ever heard of Snape making someone a cup of tea?  
  
Looking over, she saw that her companion was surveying her with a contemplative look on his face. For a moment, a very familiar tension curled between them, powerful and taut. Hermione swallowed. It had been a few weeks since she had been able to look so directly into Severus's eyes, and right now they were mesmerising in their intensity. As she watched, however, his gaze somehow withdrew, as if he had stepped away from her, and he looked away. She dragged her gaze back to her tea and took a sip.  
  
It was definitely time for plan B.  
  
***  
  
Dumbledore surveyed his longtime colleague and friend, and wondered just what the hell was going on in the man's mind. It wasn't the first time he had wondered this. Indeed, the question occurred every time he had been in his presence since the man before him had been a young child. Severus Snape was a master at concealment.  
  
Luckily, Albus Dumbledore was a master at wrangling things out of people, which was why he was one of the most powerful wizards in the world. Well, part of the reason; he did have to admit that a certain amount of magical power and knowledge had been a help. But he liked to think that he had a knack for dealing with people, figuring out what the wanted and dreamed of and being a source of encouragement for them. Sometimes, of course, he just had to give in and fake it.  
  
A meeting with Severus Snape was usually one of those times. It was only rarely that Severus let his guard down enough for even a skilled manipulator like Albus Dumbledore to figure out what was going on in his head. Albus actually enjoyed these times. It provided a bit of challenge, a bit of excitement. Severus would sit across the desk, looking impenetrably neutral, and Albus played Sherlock Holmes.  
  
Of course, he could just use his powers and read the man's aura to get some answers, but it wasn't nearly as much fun.  
  
'Now, Severus, you've come to tell me the results of this weekend's tests, I believe?' he asked, knowing his wording of the question would annoy his colleague immeasurably. He was rewarded with a hard stare.  
  
'You may believe as you wish, Albus,' Snape replied, folding his hands neatly in his lap. 'We cannot at this stage provide you with definitive results. However, we have reason to believe the tests were successful. Our subjects experienced a dream state which they reported to feel quite close to their waking lives in its feeling, and were subjected to intense emotional trauma. Hermione is writing up our results as we speak.'  
  
Albus suppressed the urge to raise his eyebrows. It had been so long since he had heard Severus voluntarily address anyone besides himself and Minerva by their first name that he almost felt he had misheard. For the man before him to be on such familiar terms with someone he had known a mere nine years was incredible. Not to mention good gossip.  
  
'You and Miss Granger have certainly done a wonderful job with this potion, Severus,' he said.  
  
***  
  
The look in Minerva McGonagall's eyes was downright predatory, and Hermione was slightly scared. She knew Hogwarts was starved for gossip, but it would have been nice if they could have hidden their intense interest in her love life just a little.  
  
Currently Minerva was ensconced on one side of the couch in front of Hermione's cold fireplace, while Hermione stared at her and contemplated how best to get advice out of her. She knew her old teacher would offer the soundest advice most gladly, particularly on this subject, but she would also have the information that Hermione wanted to get together with Snape on Hogwarts' gossip loudspeaker two steps from the door. This aside, there was also the issue of how much to reveal. It had been difficult enough to discuss sex with her own mother, and Hermione didn't relish the idea of telling the woman who was as near a maiden aunt as she got that she had biblical knowledge of one of their colleagues. For one thing, being a witch, Minerva probably didn't know the bible well enough to grasp what she meant.  
  
Tapping her fingers nervously, Hermione searched the fireplace for ideas. It didn't appear to have any, and she cursed her own timidity. After all, this was the woman who had been her friend and mentor for nine years. They were almost as close as mother and daughter. The trouble was, she couldn't squelch the feeling that she would be told off for fornicating on school grounds.  
  
She looked back up at her former teacher, and noted the impatience in the older woman's eyes. Hmm. There was one way to deal with the gossip, at least.  
  
'Minerva,' she began, and the other woman jumped.  
  
'Yes, Hermione dear?' she asked.  
  
Hermione cleared her throat and fixed her friend with a serious stare. 'What I wish to discuss with you cannot be taken out of this room. It cannot be mentioned to anyone whatsoever, even if Albus orders you to or Freya gets you drunk. Am I clear?' Her companion nodded, and she nodded in reply.  
  
'Furthermore,' she continued, 'you cannot hint, nudge, play guessing games, write down, encant in a spell, have small mice perform or in any way give any clue of what I'm about to tell you to another person.' She noticed a little light fade out of McGonagall's eyes and was glad she had added the further clauses, but there was something else... oh, yes. 'And when I say that what I am about to say cannot be taken out of this room, I do not mean that it is okay to bring someone into this room and tell them. You are not to provide this information to anyone, regardless of where you are.' Minerva frowned and Hermione knew she had hit on her friend's plan. She nodded in satisfaction.  
  
'Now that I have sorted that out...' She straightened her skirts and settled more comfortably on the couch. There really didn't seem to be a better way to do this. 'I had sex with Severus. We did it on my birthday and I ran off to think, but by the time I decided that it was a good thing he had had time to think it was a bad thing and asked me never to approach him in that way again. I've tried to get around him by being friendly but it isn't working and so I'm going to make him jealous with Sirius.' Hermione finished her tirade and observed her friend's reactions, which were quite interesting. Many emotions were battling for supremacy on McGonagall's face, but curiosity got the better of them.  
  
'What?' the older witch eventually asked, and Hermione smiled at her.  
  
'I want your advice, Minerva. I cannot see how to get Severus to admit how he feels, other than getting him angry. I think spending time with Sirius will make him jealous enough to admit it, but I'm worried it will make him too angry. What do you think?'  
  
McGonagall's brow furrowed, and the two of them sat silently for a few moments. 'You weren't thinking of becoming romantic at all with Sirius?' she eventually asked.  
  
Hermione tilted her head in thought. 'I wasn't sure. I mean, of course I would never really get romantic with Sirius, but I am not sure how far to push it with Severus. He can be a bit dense sometimes.'  
  
McGonagall nodded. 'That is true.' She frowned in contemplation. 'I don't think Severus would react very well to the idea of you being romantically attached to anyone, particularly Sirius. It's quite possible, if he is attached to you, that he may never speak to you again if he sees you are with someone else so soon.'  
  
'I was afraid of that,' Hermione said with a frown. 'The idea isn't particularly tasteful to me, either. I was thinking more of just spending more time with Sirius. Severus and I spend so much of the day together at the moment that I think he's getting used to me. I thought perhaps if I appeared to be getting a social life, especially with Sirius, it might wake him up.'  
  
'I can certainly see Severus taking note of that. It's difficult to tell how badly he would take it.' Minerva contemplated Hermione. 'He may not take it very well at all, my dear, unless you are very careful. His history with Sirius has not been a happy one.'  
  
Hermione nodded, and frowned. She hadn't fully considered the repercussions of her plan. Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea after all.  
  
'However,' Minerva said, interrupting her thoughts, 'Severus does need a swift kick in the pants if he's to do anything with his life. He's far too content in his role as a miserable bastard, in my opinion.'  
  
'So you think I should go through with it?' Hermione asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.  
  
Minerva nodded. 'Yes. I do. But be sure to tell Sirius what you're up to. We don't want him falling in love with you as well.' Hermione, momentarily relaxed, choked on her breath at this suggestion.  
  
'I'm sure he'll be all right with it.'  
  
***  
  
Hermione wasn't so sure when Sirius appeared at the end of the corridor as she escaped from her work with Snape the next day. She raised her eyebrows at him in query as he joined her and they made their way to the light.  
  
'I thought you might want me to pick you up,' Sirius said, taking her arm in a gentlemanly manner. Hermione sighed.  
  
'Sirius, this isn't a game,' she said. 'It's just supposed to be casual. I told Severus that I had to leave early to have dinner with you. I think it would be pushing it to actually have you pick me up.'  
  
Sirius stopped to look at her with an assessing eye. 'Hmm, 'Severus' now, is it?'  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and dragged him on.  
  
She had thought that, as it went for her plan, the sooner the better. There were only two weeks before the beginning of term, and she didn't relish the idea of openly pursuing Severus with students around. Also, Sirius would be leaving a few days before the students returned - he was a wanted criminal still, after all, and while the staff that remained over the holidays were more than trustworthy, several hundred students could not be relied on to hold their tongues. It was with this thought in mind that she had approached Sirius immediately after her meeting with Minerva, and now, the day after, she had left her research 'early' (not really, just not ludicrously late as she usually did).  
  
She hadn't been able to see Snape's reaction as she mentioned that she had to leave to meet Sirius, but perhaps that was better. As much as she wanted to know if Snape was capable of jealousy, it wouldn't do to show she was interested. She shuddered at the outcome if Snape suspected any plotting on her part.  
  
Shrugging it off, she slipped her arm through Sirius's and followed his lead down the path. She was simply spending more time with a good friend she had virtually ignored for the past few weeks. There was no guilt in that. If it happened to have the side benefit of making Snape mad with jealousy, then so much the better.  
  
And besides, it wasn't as if the man hadn't asked for it. He had been playing with her affections for far too long.  
  
With a nod to herself, Hermione shoved all feelings of guilt down and pulled Sirius toward town.  
  
***  
  
The next morning, there was no sign that Snape had been disturbed by Hermione's absence. Nor was there the morning after that, even though she had taken over an hour for her lunch with Sirius. Hermione sighed dispiritedly to herself as she began mixing the bases for several lots of dream potion. Their research was going remarkably well; they were down to honing the finer points of the potion and would be ready to release it soon. There was only a short time until the school year began again, and more than likely the research would be finished in time for both Hermione and Snape to have a few days to prepare their class schedules. Fairly soon, they would have little reason to interact at all.  
  
The fact that she had spent almost all of her social time for the last two days alone with Sirius seemed to not affect Snape at all. Hermione had been watching closely; he neither seemed angry about it nor suspiciously happy. He just didn't seem to care. As much as Hermione was glad to see that the animosity ever lurking between Snape and Sirius had diminished, at least to the extent that Snape refrained from insulting him every time his name was mentioned, it was extremely disheartening to suspect that Snape didn't care who she spent her social time with.  
  
Hermione sighed again as she continued to stir the base potion. The potion needed ten minutes of constant stirring and then a pinch of powdered ginger root, and then it would be ready. Ten minutes was a rather long time for a person to contemplate their own unattractiveness. Hermione settled for frowning at the deep green coloured potion and listing the side-effects of thickening agents on potions in her head.  
  
A hand came around her shoulder and took hold of the spoon, stirring in time with her. Hermione looked up to see Snape looking down with concern.  
  
'I will take over if you would like a short break,' he said, taking a firmer grip on the spoon and edging her away. Hermione moved, thankful for a break from stirring. In years past, she would never have thought Snape capable of simple courtesy, but that was what he gave her now - simple, professional courtesy. It was maddening.  
  
She would be having dinner with Sirius tonight. Thank goodness one of the side benefits of her scheme was that she had a kind and understanding friend to turn to.  
  
***  
  
Minerva had spent a frustrating few days Snape-watching as well. As Hermione couldn't see what Snape was doing when she wasn't around, or at least refused to do a subterfuge spell to would allow her to spy on him, the older witch had taken it upon herself to collect information. Personally.  
  
It had been damned frustrating. So far she had watched him calmly eat two meals without so much as a glance at Hermione's empty seat, walk to and from his dungeon offices four times and had surreptitiously watched him in the library. She had tried most earnestly to find some sense of longing in the way he wandered the halls, to find a stubborn anger in the way he failed to look for Hermione at meal times or even detect grumpy frustration in the way he turned the pages of books, but the simple truth was that the man was himself, no grumpier or happier than normal. Damn him.  
  
Minerva was now following the potions master back to his dungeons (from a discreet distance, of course). Being a cat in a human body gave one certain advantages, and she was proud of the way she had carried out her espionage so far. Not a person could possibly tell that the innocent- looking Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts was in fact a clever and cunning spy.  
  
She rounded the corner and almost jumped out of her skin as she found a smug-looking Albus Dumbledore waiting for her.  
  
'Still following young Severus around, Minerva? Really, I would have thought him a bit young for you.'  
  
Minerva scowled at him. 'I hate you, Albus, really I do.'  
  
Albus raised his eyebrows at her and swung to walk down the corridor with her. Only then did she notice Professors Hooch and Sprout behind him.  
  
'Esme just got back,' Hooch said. Sprout nodded. 'Wotcher, Minnie.'  
  
McGonagall continued down the corridor, displeased to find that the three followed her. Really, they needed to institute some sort of boredom relief program at Hogwarts in the summer, she reflected. It made the professors worse to cope with than the children.  
  
'You won't get any information about his relationship with Hermione this way, you know,' Dumbledore said, swaying gently from side to side as he walked. 'Following him around won't do any good, especially in the day time.'  
  
Minerva felt slightly smug at the headmaster's wildly incorrect guess. It wasn't often Albus was wrong, but when it happened it felt so good. Unfortunately her smug expression caught his attention.  
  
'Of course, you could just tell me why you are following Severus,' he said, folding his hands behind his back.  
  
'No.' Ah, it was such a pleasure to do that once in a while, just say 'No' to Albus Dumbledore, Minerva contemplated as her companion frowned. It was such a rare occasion.  
  
'You realise I will know eventually,' he prompted, but Minerva shook her head.  
  
'I don't care, Albus. She won't let me tell anyone.' It had slipped out before she had even contemplated it, and Minerva immediately regretted giving Albus this small clue.  
  
'Ah, Hermione told me already,' he said. 'She wanted me to check up on your plan.' Minerva felt the interested gazes of the two professors behind her and grimaced. It was like participating in a tennis match.  
  
'Nice try, Albus,' she said.  
  
The foursome walked, form-perfect, in silence for a few moments before Sprout piped up with a different tack.  
  
'If we guess, will you tell us?'  
  
Minerva frowned. 'No.'  
  
'She thinks he's having an affair,' interpolated Hooch.  
  
'No.'  
  
Sprout coughed. 'She wants to note his habits so she can ambush him.'  
  
'No.'  
  
McGonagall felt the headmaster's interested gaze on her face before he put his bit in. 'She has heard that small green fairies are nesting in his hair and appear at only certain times of day, and wants you to check.' Minerva's eyebrows shot up at that one, and Dumbledore looked at her eagerly.  
  
'No, Albus. Don't you have something to do? You are headmaster of Hogwarts, after all.'  
  
'I was right about the fairies, wasn't I?'  
  
'No. Now go away.' She huffed a sigh as they rounded a corner; Snape was nowhere in sight, and she was likely to lose him with these three attached to her.  
  
'You wouldn't be protesting so much if I wasn't right about the fairies.'  
  
Minerva turned on Dumbledore, glaring at his eager-yet-innocent expression and resisted the urge to punch him. She would say that the man was going senile if she didn't know he was the most powerful wizard in a thousand years. She suspected he did it to annoy people.  
  
'Albus, you are not right about the fairies. We all know that the only species of green hair-dwelling fairy lives in China, and Severus hasn't been there in years.' Minerva looked down the corridor; Snape was gone. She turned on her companions, hands on hips. 'Well, thank you all very much. He's gone.'  
  
'Minerva my dear, surely you must know that he has detected you following him,' Albus said, patting her on the arm. Minerva narrowed her eyes at his reasonable tone. There was something lurking behind it. The headmaster brightened. 'You would do well to let me help you,' he added.  
  
Giving up, Minerva turned and walked back down the corridor.  
  
'All right, Minerva,' Hooch said as they all strolled after her. 'He may not have noticed you following him around. But you could still do with the help. It's amazing he hasn't blown up at you by now.'  
  
'Yes, that's true. You could do a lot better with four people than with one,' added Sprout.  
  
'I could take care of the fairies,' added Dumbledore in a thoughtful voice. 'I've always wanted green hair-fairies.'  
  
'Keep it up, Albus,' warned Minerva, 'and I very well may organise to give them to you.' There was lead in her voice.  
  
Dumbledore evidently chose not to notice the threat, and smiled happily to himself as he followed the group down the hall.  
  
It didn't occur to any of them that if a seasoned spy like Severus had failed to notice Minerva McGonagall blatantly following his trail he must be very preoccupied with his thoughts indeed.  
  
***  
  
It was a perfect Tuesday afternoon that found Hermione and Sirius strolling back from a leisurely lunch in Hogsmeade, arm in arm. In all, it had been a pleasant week; the days had been warm and balmy without being hot, and the nights peaceful. Hermione had been learning a lot about her friend Sirius, as well, the past never having allowed her to spend quality time with him. It was all too easy to forget with Sirius's lighthearted attitude these days that he was one of the few men who had escaped Azkaban sanity intact.  
  
Which was why she was feeling extremely guilty about the whole situation. As the days went by her mind was devoted to thinking about Snape, analysing his actions when she was near him and debating his motives when she was away. Putting a plan into action had driven to her to near obsession rather than distracting her.  
  
In all, it wasn't a mindset conducive to getting to know an old friend, and it was what she felt Sirius deserved.  
  
She looked up to see that they had arrived at the front doors of Hogwarts. Sirius dropped her arm to open the door for her. He paused, looking at her with a thoughtful expression.  
  
'You've been wearing that frown for the last ten minutes, Mione,' he said. 'Somehow I don't feel that you're enjoying yourself.'  
  
Hermione smiled sadly. 'Sirius, I think we have to talk.'  
  
***  
  
Severus Snape was having a very, very bad day. The day he had been given the Dark Mark, the last time he had been tortured, the first class containing Neville Longbottom; all of these paled compared to this day. It did help that all of those things had happened in the past and were somewhat faded in intensity, but it was a bad day none the less.  
  
The trouble was, he had run out of ways to tell himself that Hermione dating Sirius was not a bad thing. So far, he had rationalised that Hermione was a young woman and needed a social life, and that said social life was difficult to obtain in the ancient castle of Hogwarts. After this had lost its shine, he had considered that going about with Sirius Black was no doubt better than being bored. He had, for a short time, tried to appreciate Black as a thoughtful, attentive and desirable companion who would be good for Hermione. That had lasted only a very short time. Most recently he had considered the possibility that she was entertaining Sirius as a favour to Potter. She was quite a civil-minded woman after all.  
  
This morning, after the gossip at the breakfast table had revealed that last night's social engagement had taken place in Black's rooms. Hermione, coincidentally, had not attended breakfast. Neither had Black. It was only by extreme force of will that Snape had managed to avoid bending his cutlery in half at the table.  
  
The rest of the morning had been spent in quiet research. Hermione had been punctual, bright, extremely capable and had left at twelve for 'lunch with Sirius.'  
  
'Sirius.' How could a man with such a ridiculous name ever been taken seriously? You couldn't even use the word 'serious' in relation to the man because of his stupid name.  
  
Fed up with the entire world, Snape stalked from his office and up the stairs. The rest of the staff should have finished their meals by now and he would not have to put up with their insipid conversations. The possibility that Hermione might be, or should be, returning from her overlong lunch did not factor in his motives. This was unfortunate, as the moment he entered the main entrance hall was the exact moment Hermione and Black walked in.  
  
Instinctively, Snape stepped back into a shadow. He did not want to watch this, he reflected as his eyes steadily observed the couple conversing. He really didn't. It was like Chinese water-torture to see them, heads bent together as they no doubt whispered whatever it was that lovers whispered when they were alone. Had it been any other couple he observed, Snape would have found it sickening. As it was, he found it intolerable.  
  
As Snape watched, Black enfolded Hermione in his embrace and rested his cheek against her head. It was such a moment of seeming tenderness that something felt pierced inside Snape, and he could watch no more.  
  
With a snarl frozen on his face, he turned and swept down the hall to his dungeons.  
  
***  
  
'Sirius, I don't think we should go through with my plan any more,' Hermione said as she walked into the hall. Her companion raised his eyebrows at her, but said nothing.  
  
'I don't think it's fair for you to have to hang around and listen to me complain and babble all the time,' she explained. 'It's not fair for you to have to put up with a gloomy companion when you should be enjoying yourself.'  
  
Sirius nodded, but raised a finger. 'Ah, but the point isn't for us to have a good time. It's for you to get your man, with the side benefit of me annoying Snape for a while. Really, Hermione, I'm enjoying it. Not only do I get your charming company but I get to make Snape angry with no chance of getting me back. Did you see his expression at breakfast the other morning? Wonderful.'  
  
Hermione shook her head. 'Stop trying to make me feel better. I know it's not working, and I feel bad about spending time with you under false pretences. I don't want you to think that I would only spend time with you to use you; you deserve more than that in a friend.' She lifted her hand to halt what Sirius was about to say. 'No, I have to accept it. If Snape wanted me as anything more than a colleague, he would have shown some sign by now. I owe it to you to be better company.' She looked down. 'I only... I just need a little time to get that firmly planted in my head.'  
  
Sirius made a clicking sound and wrapped his arms around her, gently smoothing her hair from her face. 'I don't think you're right little one. Snape would be a madman to pass you up. but do what you think is best for yourself.'  
  
With a sigh, Hermione allowed herself to rest into Sirius's embrace. It was nice to be held, even if it wasn't by the right person. She held back a snort. It was unlikely Snape would ever hold her like this.  
  
There was a soft sound, and Hermione lifted her head from Sirius's shoulder to look behind her. Some small noise had caught her attention, but it took her eyes a few moments to spot the swirl of darkness retreating down the corridor. She frowned. It wasn't possible Snape had been angered by such an innocent scene. She corrected herself. It was highly probable that Snape had completely misconstrued and been angered by such an innocent scene. It had only been a few days since she'd begun to implement her plan and she hadn't expected results so soon.  
  
These didn't seem to be particularly good results, either, if his stalk was anything to go by. He didn't look like 'angry-because-I've-just- realised-what-a-fool-I've-been-and-now-I've-lost-her' Snape, he looked 'furious-and-sulky' Snape. Quickly, Hermione thanked Sirius for lunch and hurried after her great looming bat.  
  
She entered the laboratory only moments after him, but somehow Snape had managed to settle himself as if he had been there for hours. Hermione cursed inwardly. If she had managed to catch him in flight then a confrontation would have been easy, but if he wanted to pretend that he had not been spying on herself and Sirius it got more difficult.  
  
Hermione paused in the doorway to observe her opponent while she considered her options. She could be straightforward, and ask him why he had run away like that, but it was entirely possible that he would deny having been there at all and the conversation would only make things worse. Snape was, after all, a very skilled liar even in the face of the bald truth: she had seen enough evidence of that in her school years.  
  
No, the straightforward approach would be a bad idea. Better to play him at his own game.  
  
With that thought in mind, Hermione strode into the room, bestowing a sunny smile on her research partner as she went to deposit her things. This earned her a scowl. She noticed that his eyes followed her steadily across the room as she approached his desk.  
  
'You are late.' The three words fell on the calm silence in the room like lead on stone.  
  
Hermione raised her eyebrows. 'No, I'm not.' She really wasn't. Though her lunch had taken a little longer than an hour, she and Snape had never had defined lunch hours, usually working as they ate.  
  
'You are,' Snape said, folding his arms, 'late. Almost twenty minutes late. If you feel that your social life is of more import than this work then kindly do me the courtesy of at least advising me of your intended absence.'  
  
Well, there was certainly no danger of him going soft, Hermione thought with a flash of anger. Even though his anger was precisely what she had been hoping to provoke, his acid tongue still stung.  
  
'I am not late,' she repeated, folding her own arms. 'In fact, it is impossible for me to be late. One cannot be late for an appointment that has no schedule.' Snape raised an eyebrow at her as she turned to the work bench.  
  
'Miss Granger, this project may not be officially sanctioned, but it requires your full commitment. If you are incapable of this, I suggest you admit it and let this whole thing be over with.'  
  
Hermione's jaw dropped. Of all the things he could possibly have chosen to say, that was the most unfair. 'Back to "Miss Granger" are we, Severus?' she asked with her back to him. 'I had thought we were rather past that, all things considered. Do you intend to treat me like a student for the rest of my life? It could get rather difficult for you, should I get married.'  
  
'Hah!' snorted Snape. Hermione whirled around, to see him scribbling intently at his notes.  
  
''Hah'?' she asked. 'What do you mean by that?' Snape remained silent, and Hermione walked over to his desk and yanked the quill from his hand, causing him to look up. He scowled at her.  
  
'If you must know,' he said, 'I would consider talk of marrying a little naive, given your recent behaviour.' He snatched his quill back.  
  
'What in hell do you mean by that?' Hermione demanded.  
  
Snape continued to scribble with his quill. 'Nothing.'  
  
Hermione stood, stunned, for a few moments. She knew that Snape could be viciously cruel, but she had never been accused of wantonness before.  
  
'No, you don't get to leave it at that,' she said, snatching his quill back and throwing it across the room. Planting her hands on the desk, she leaned forward and stared angrily into his face. 'I don't like to be called a slut without sufficient evidence, Severus Snape. What exactly did you mean by that comment?'  
  
***  
  
Snape stared at the woman who had been driving him slowly out of his wits over the last few weeks. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was a riot of curls around her face and her eyes were sparking at him. A furious anger burned in his gut at the thought that she must look like this for *him*, after they had kissed or... other things.  
  
He had known and accepted that Hermione was seeing Black and had even accepted that it was inevitable that she would give her body to someone else. It was reasonable and human. She was a woman in the bloom of youth and beauty and he hadn't expected her to pine for an old waste like himself.  
  
It was the reality of seeing her in Black's arms that had informed him, once more, that logic had no hold over emotion. He felt as if the yellowest bile had eaten its way into his soul and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark corner and lick his wounds.  
  
She wouldn't let him.  
  
'Nothing,' he repeated, keeping his eyes steadily focussed on his desk. Maybe if he ignored her for long enough she would go away and leave him alone. It worked with other people. Maybe if he just ignored her existence things would be a little easier for him.  
  
'Don't you dare try to ignore me!' Hermione yelled, slapping her hand down on the desk. 'You said it, now explain it. And do me the courtesy of looking at me when I am talking to you!' Furiously, she grabbed Snape's chin and tilted his head up. He narrowed his eyes and slapped her hand away in reaction.  
  
'Don't touch me,' he hissed. He was at the point of losing control, something that hadn't happened for a very long time.  
  
Her eyes narrowed also. 'Probably something you should have thought about before all this mess, Snape, me touching you. Well, it's too late to take it back, Snape, because I have touched you. I have touched you about all-' She prodded him with a finger- 'I-' She prodded him again- 'want.'  
  
Snape caught her hands. 'I told you not to touch me, witch.' Hermione glared at him.  
  
'Tough.' She snatched her hands back. 'You have absolutely no power over anything I do.'  
  
'That is blatantly clear.' It slipped out before he could catch it, and he regretted it instantly. There was a pause in their fury as the comment sunk in.  
  
'Fine,' said Hermione, turning and packing her things. 'Just bloody fine.' She threw the last book into her bag and slammed the bag down on a table. 'No, it's not bloody well fine.' She turned around and stared at him, hands gripping the desk behind her. Snape stared back at her. The anger building up inside him only got worse with the silence.  
  
'What?' he eventually exploded. A part of him couldn't believe he had fallen for that particular trick. 'Why must you persist in damning me with your presence? *Leave me alone*!'  
  
'I have left you alone, damn it!' Hermione yelled, frustration and anger in her voice. 'I have done nothing but leave you alone, and you react by insulting me! What the hell is your problem? Is it that you simply can't stand me at all? Do you want us to end our project?'  
  
'No,' muttered Snape, looking back down at the desk. His hands were white from gripping it.  
  
'Then what?' Hermione took a step forward and again leaned over the desk toward him, her voice softening. 'Tell me what's wrong.'  
  
Snape pushed back from the desk and stood up. He couldn't stand this any more. He had to go. He had to- but he found the door blocked by roughly sixty kilograms of ex-student.  
  
'Don't you dare walk away!' she said, grabbing him by the lapels of his robe. She was shaking slightly, and the shrillness of her question almost made him wince. 'Tell me!'  
  
'Shouldn't you be getting back to Black, Granger?' Snape sneered, and took her hands off his robes. He knew the question was a giveaway for his true feelings, but it was the best he could do to get away. Hopefully he could make her angry enough to just give up. 'You two seem to be joined at the hip these days, and I wouldn't want to deprive you of his company.'  
  
Hermione flushed and put her hands on her hips. 'What does this have to do with Sirius?'  
  
'Nothing, apart from the distraction he obviously poses for your work. But please don't let me keep you from each other; I have no wish to hear your mooning.'  
  
'What does this have to do with Sirius?' Hermione asked. 'Why on earth would you care who I spend my time with?' There was something other than exasperation and fury in her tone, but Snape couldn't pin it down, and his anger wouldn't give him time.  
  
'Don't use euphemisms, Hermione,' he snarled. 'It's all over the castle what you're doing with the time you 'spend' with Black. All I ask is that you don't bring it into my office: I have enough to deal with without being sickened by your escapades.'  
  
'Why would you even be concerned, Snape?' asked Hermione, her flush growing deeper as the anger returned fully-fledged into her voice. 'You made it very clear that you had absolutely no interest in my personal life before; why care now? I don't see how it should make any difference to you if I snog Sirius Black at the dinner table or shag Filch in the hall! Tell me why it affects you at all! Tell me why you care!' She was very close now, her face all he could see in front of his, and Snape felt desperate and suffocated.  
  
'Go away, Hermione,' he said, and there was pleading in his quiet tone. 'Please.'  
  
'No!' His eyes had nowhere to look but into hers, and she was giving him no ground. 'Why the hell would you care, Snape?' Her yells were echoing off the walls of his dungeons and she was suffocating him with her presence; Snape felt more trapped than he ever had before.  
  
'Because you're mine!' yelled Snape. Something changed in Hermione's face.  
  
'Good. Don't you forget it,' she said, and swiftly turned to gather her things and leave the room. 


	44. When the Rhumba Rhythm Starts to Play

Disclaimer: I don't wish I had Jesse's girl. I don't care where one might find a woman like that, and the guy in that song is a really bad friend if you ask me.  
  
When the Rhumba Rhythm Starts to Play  
  
Snape sneaked a look at Hermione over the top of the book he was reading. She seemed so calm, so composed, even though their little... argument? Understanding?... had occurred only two hours ago. There again, it had been she who was the composed one throughout this whole fiasco.  
  
He sighed inwardly and returned his gaze to the book. When he had first been a child at Hogwarts, he had often used large books to hide behind in uncomfortable situations (which then had occurred every day). This was the first time in adulthood that he had felt the need to use such a method, but to his mind, the woman sitting across from him was equally as terrifying as the Dark Lord. At least Voldemort was consistent, madman that he was - you always knew the curse would follow the pat on the back. He didn't throw logic at you to make you voice your own feelings and then leave you to stew on it.  
  
The question was, what to do now? Hermione had admirably let him argue himself into a corner, but then had performed the very unGryffindor- like feat of leaving it alone. Pleasing as it was to see her turning away from the paths of Gryffs, it had left the next move up to him. Damn it.  
  
Shifting in his chair, Snape peered around the edge of his book to see that the object of his frustrations was happily perusing a book on obscure potions ingredients. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, a sure sign that she had found something in the book that her insatiable curiosity had not uncovered before, and her lips were slightly pursed. It was strange, he thought, that lips that were so annoying when flapping about looked like the sweetest of delicacies when pouting. And that cute little nose of hers...  
  
Snape ducked back behind his book, disgusted with himself. Things were desperate if he was applying the word 'cute' in a positive way. Obviously, something had to be done. But what? And when?  
  
A seduction was in order, he supposed. They had never discussed what Hermione expected from a romantic entanglement, and he was frankly buggered if he had the faintest idea what she wanted. He supposed he could ask Minerva, but that would be the equivalent of standing on top of the breakfast table and shouting, 'I want to have sex with Hermione Granger!'  
  
Though she presented a practical front to the world, Snape suspected Hermione was a romantic. Quite probably a romantic, candlelit dinner was her heart's desire. Snape was surprised to find that he did not begrudge her that small concession; although he considered such a thing cliched and trite, the thought of undressing Hermione by candlelight was not an unpleasant one. He, Severus Snape, could lower himself for her pleasure.  
  
He frowned. Of course, it would probably be better to use his greater years and experience to develop a more sophisticated scheme. Perhaps she was expecting that. Snape frowned. After all, she had been surrounded by Gryffindor types her whole life and had never gone for any of them. The old- fashioned romantic approach was probably not what she desired - she *had* chosen the head of Slytherin for a lover. Maybe she wanted something more... Slytherinish. An image of silken ropes and blindfolds flashed through his mind, but remembering the object of his thoughts was sitting not more than a metre away he pushed it aside. With a cough, he stood and began to pace.  
  
Perhaps not blindfolds, then. Best not to try to run before the two of them tested out a leisurely stroll - he was several years older than her, after all. Seduction by dining was certainly a possibility; Hermione enjoyed food, he knew from surreptitious watchings at the dinner table.  
  
A movement caught his eye, and as he turned his head he saw Hermione swiftly return her gaze to her reading. All would have appeared innocent if there hadn't been the slightest smirk playing about her lips. Snape's eyes narrowed. Apparently the maiden had detected his difficulties, and found them amusing. Perhaps it was time for a more direct, ballistic approach then.  
  
Snape strode over to the chair where Hermione sat and crossed his arms. He considered his options. He didn't relish the idea of attacking her in her chair, but there seemed few ways to get her to naturally stand up. An idea began to form in his mind, and he smiled evilly. He did have to get even with her for this afternoon after all. It took a few moments of his looming over her before she looked up.  
  
'Yes, Severus?' she said. Snape raised an eyebrow and nodded to himself. Well, at least he had verbal agreement.  
  
'Miss Granger, get up,' he commanded in his most threatening teacherly tones. He almost felt guilty at the flash of student-like fear that went through her expression before she stood, but the guilt was well and truly drowned out by self-satisfaction. She may not have been his student for a while, but he still had it.  
  
Trampling over the worry that particular thought caused, Snape leant down and caught Hermione's surprised face in his hand before claiming her lips with his own.  
  
Ah, so this was what he had been pining for all these weeks. He was glad to find out what that burning, wanting sensation in his stomach had been all this time. Strange, only a few kisses had passed between them and yet he knew her taste so well. She sighed, allowing further access to her mouth, a happy coincidence for him. Hmm, odd that something that looked so repulsive when done by corner-lurking teenagers could be so pleasurable. Perhaps if he tried twisting like *this*...  
  
Well, that was certainly a pleasurable experience, Snape thought, as soon as the stars cleared from his vision. Hermione appeared to have her eyes closed, and he tested that out. Much better. He immersed himself in the feeling of her clothes against his hands, the warmth of the body under those clothes. In the darkness behind his eyes, his only anchor to the world became her lips, her mouth warmly welcoming him and her hands grasping his shoulders to keep him from floating away. If only he could do this for a lifetime or two he would be a happy man.  
  
This all ended abruptly, or so it seemed, as she pulled her mouth away and let go of his shoulders. By the time Snape was conscious enough to open his eyes she was already a disappearing figure behind the bedroom door, and it took him a few seconds after that to realise his hands were still raised to grasp her and drop them.  
  
He frowned. This had seemed to be going so well. Hermione certainly hadn't seemed to dislike the way he was kissing her. So why had she suddenly run behind the bedroom door? She had this penchant for running away, drat the woman. A word was niggling at his brain. Bedroom. Bedroom door. The frown on his brow deepened. Why on earth would she suddenly disappear into the bedroom in the middle of a perfectly good...  
  
Ah. Snape walked toward the doorway and peered around, to see a timid- looking Hermione standing uncertainly beside the bed. The small smile on her face grew a little wider as he walked in the door. 


	45. My Happiness

Chapter Forty Three

Hermione's eyes fluttered open to see her lover's face bathed in the pre-dawn light. He looked so peaceful in sleep, something she had not had the opportunity to notice before. The harsh lines of his face had softened. His eyelashes fell in two half-moons upon his cheeks, and his mouth was soft. Very tempting...

Hermione held herself back instead of placing a kiss on those lips. In the daylight it seemed - too personal, somehow. Anyway, here he was, asleep and relaxed for the first time that she had ever witnessed. It was wrong to disturb him. She settled down further into the covers and closed her eyes in the determination she should sleep.

Snape opened his eyes and frowned. The woman in front of him was bathed in the golden-silver light of the dawn. He didn't think he had ever seen her so beautiful - her hair was wild around her, curling over the pillows and sheets, her lips slightly pursed and her cheeks rosy. She was also quite obviously pretending to be asleep, and this disturbed him. After what he presumed to think was a night of mutually satisfactory passion this was not the morning welcome he had expected to receive.

It was puzzling. Though his experience did encompass the occassional 'morning after' it had all been quite straightforward, as there had clearly been no intention of an 'afternoon after' as well. Snape was quite ready to admit that an 'afternoon after' in this situation would be most welcome. He was damned if he knew how to arrange that, however, and he didn't think the other side's pretending to sleep was a good start.

His frown grew deeper as he watched Hermione breathe. What had he done that would result in the creature of his desires wanting to convince him she was asleep? Perhaps she just wanted him to go? He could, of course, but something told him this would not be the best of ideas. While it was apparently quite acceptable for her to dash off after an encounter he didn't feel such behaviour would be looked on with much favour were he to do it himself. Besides, he didn't much feel like it when Hermione's leg was pressed so nicely into his thigh.

No, surely if she had wanted him to go, she would have told him so. Hermione was quite a vocal creature.

Perhaps he had done something wrong. But then - he allowed himself a smug smirk - he had done whatever it was wrong three times, and she hadn't complained. Quite the opposite, in fact. Strange, how the unsappable energy that had possessed him the evening before had deserted in the cold light of the morning. There were muscles twingeing in his legs alone that he hadn't known existed.

Hmm. A thought slowly dawned. If he was feeling slightly sore Hermione's state might be somewhat more uncomfortable, or it would soon be. No possible solution appeared to be presenting itself for Hermione's sudden affection for soporific impressions. Perhaps a few minutes alone would give her whatever space she needed, and in the mean time he could make use of her lab to provide some relief for whatever aches would assail her once she did decide to move. First to dress, then - a lab was no place to be naked.

He was just slipping his arms into the sleeves of his robe when a small snuffle made him turn back to the bed, where a pair of brown eyes peeked over the coverlet at him. He raised an eyebrow.

'Are you running away again?' a small voice asked, quiet but with the usual inquisitivness to it.

A smile threatened, but he tucked it away for later inspection. 'I think there has been quite enough running away for now.' It wasn't the most well-thought out reply in the history of morning conversations, but it appeared to satisfy as the head peeking over the covers gave a small nod and closed its eyes.

Snape quickly set the ingredients for a basic pain-relief potion to the boil and headed back to the bedroom. It would be best to administer the potion in a bath, letting the aches soak away. He felt strangely enthusiastic at that thought. It was strange how the possibility of being permitted to watch Hermione Granger as she immersed herself in a small body of water could be so immensely appealing to him. Shaking off the uncharacteristic sentimentality, he strode into the bedroom.

Hermione had a slight frown of discomfort upon her face as she sat on the edge of the bed. Snape spent a few moments debating with himself before stepping forward and scooping a rather startled and completely naked Hermione into his arms and striding into the bathroom. Hermione gaped at him. With an internal shrug, he set her down, opened the taps for the bath and went back to check on the potion. He couldn't see the puzzled look that followed him, but that was okay as he wore one himself. Spontaneous courtesy was almost an antithesis to his very nature. He puzzled over it as he poured the cooling potion into a vessel and walked back through the bedroom. He puzzled over it as he almost tripped over Hermione's robes, abandoned on the floor. He puzzled over it but only briefly as he walked into the bathroom and saw Hermione, sitting quite elegantly in the tranquil pool of her bath, hair twisted into a knot that just happened to set off her neck admirably and reveal her shoulders. And the water, he noticed against his better will, was not... quite... high enough to cover her breasts. All puzzlement cleared from his expression as his feet overrode his brain and took him to the side of the bath.

He leant down to pour out the potion and almost missed the odd smile on Hermione's face, just before she reached up and pulled him into the bath.

There was a splash.

Snape took a moment to gather his thoughts. Strangely enough, in his broad range of experience he had never been thrown fully-robed into a bath before. Then again, he had never had Hermione Granger's wet naked thighs wrapped around him in a bath before. It sort of balanced out.

There was a giggle behind him, and he schooled his expression and turned around in the water. This brought him nicely into contact with Hermione's chest, but he ignored that.

'Miss Granger,' he said. 'What, precisely, makes you think I would appreciate a bath fully-clothed?'

A flicker of uncertainty flashed through her eyes at his tone of voice, before the famous Gryffindor bull-headedness made an appearance.

'Thank you, Severus,' Hermione answered. 'You have saved me from having to subtlely inform you that you were overdressed.'

Snape raised an eyebrow. 'Spare me Gryffindor subtlety.'

Hermione nodded. 'Very well then.' And she dragged his head down to kiss him.

After a spluttering moment, they sorted out how two people in a slippery bath could safely navigate movement.

Snape had never had his clothes taken off in a bath before either, and this proved to be a very interesting experience. It also proved to be a lesson in patience when they forgot to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt.

'Hmm,' said Hermione. In the struggle, their positions had somehow reversed, and she was now leaning on his chest. Snape didn't like the smile she was giving him. 'It seems you're in a fix.' Snape raised his eyebrow at her, and she looked from side to side, where his arms were trapped within their sleeves.

'This is the time,' she said, leaning forward to nip at his neck, 'when I'd begin to apologise for all the terrible things I'd done to a certain former student.'

This time, both of Snape's eyebrows shot up. 'You made no objection to them a few hours ago.'

Hermione gave him a serious look. 'That was a dreadful pun.' She continued her journey down his neck and onto his chest. It was at this point that Snape began to feel the full vulnerability of having his hands trapped behind his back by a wet shirt. He bit his tongue and made a sound through his nose as she reached a particularly sensitive spot beside his left nipple.

Hermione raised her head. 'What?' she asked.

Snape gritted his teeth. He said, 'Ticklish.'

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. 'What?'

'I happen to be,' he answered, 'ticklish. In that particular spot.'

His companion grinned. 'I never knew you were ticklish.'

'Not many people rush to tickle the potions master of Hogwarts,' he replied.

'Hmm,' Hermione said as she traced a finger over the ticklish spot and Snape squirmed. 'So you wouldn't like it if I did this?' She drilled a few fingers lightly, and Snape thrashed.

'No,' he said breathlessly.

'Or this?' she asked, as she leant forward and breathed on the patch of skin.

'No.'

'Or... this?' she asked, and gently licked a pattern upon the wet skin.

'Hermione,' Snape said, when he had got his breath back. 'You would never have made a good Slytherin.'

Hermione raised her head to look at him in surprise. 'And why is that?'

'Well,' he replied, 'partly because of your inherent love of truth, justice and loyalty but mostly-' With a wriggle, he held up his hands, which were amazingly cuff-free. 'Mostly because you give your opponent enough time to free himself when you're trying to torture him.'

Hermione had only time for a short gasp of surprise before he smothered her lips with his, and his hands dealt some torture of their own.

They did remember to undo the cuffs of his trousers. Eventually.

As they had awoken at dawn, their rather leisurely bath finished just in time for breakfast. By unspoken agreement the two began to dress to go down to the great hall, and Severus was well along the corridor from Hermione's rooms before it occurred to him that seperately attending a staff breakfast was not every girl's idea of a romantic morning after. The girl in question was walking along beside him quite sedately, giving him no reason to worry that she was upset, but Snape had not spent years around growing and grown women without learning something.

She did seem to be quite happy, though. She had even given him a small smile as they had rushed out of her rooms. Yes, rushed... come to think of it, she had almost seemed quite eager to get them out of her rooms. Of course, by the time they had finished their rather long bath they had almost been running late for breakfast, and it had seemed only reasonable that both of them turning up late would cause suspicion, which they did not want. He was almost certain he didn't want the rest of the staff to know that he and Hermione were... whatever they were now. Almost quite certain.

He sneaked another look at her as they neared a fork in the corridor that would quite handily provide them with two different paths to breakfast, and decided she looked almost too happy. After all, their rather enjoyable soujourn had been interrupted by the need to keep up appearances. She could at least look a little upset. He didn't like that at all.

Hermione turned to him with a warm smile and touched his hand. 'I think I'll just pop into the library before I go to the great hall. See you at breakfast?' Her voice sounded quite cheery. No, he did not like that at all.

With a quickness honed by years of sneaking up on students, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him, ravishing her mouth with his as he edged her up against the wall. She gave a little squeak and her hands crept up to wrap around his neck, tangling in his hair. His tongue flicked against her lips, seeking entrance, and she opened to him immediately, angling her head to allow him to deepen the kiss. A soft sigh escaped her as his hands ran down her body to rest at her hips, pulling them tightly against his own as he ground against her.

He abruptly finished the kiss, setting her back against the wall and taking half a step back himself. Her eyes were still closed in reaction to the kiss, and he watched as she sighed and opened her eyes, placing her hands against the wall behind her to steady herself.

'See you at breakfast,' he said, biting back a smirk at her shocked look and turning to walk down the corridor. That would show her to be so eager to be away from him. Now he only had to persuade his erection to go back down before he got to the great hall.

Hermione wasn't sure where this daring side of Severus had come from, but she was damned if she would let him make her incredibly aroused, desert her, and get away with it. Unfortunately, the number of people scattered around the table at breakfast didn't allow her to sit right next to him without danger of arousing suspicion, and so she was forced to find another way. Now, what was it that Ginny had told her..?

She started with a delicate little yawn. Severus, who had been steadfastly contemplating his eggs a few seats away, looked up at the movement, and seemed entranced by the movement of her lips as she daintily covered her yawn with her hand. She lowered her hand and licked her bottom lip before returning to her breakfast, satisfied that she had at least got his attention.

From then on, she noticed Severus occasionally glancing over at her, whenever she lifted food to her lips. She did nothing vulgar or even unusual, but ate with a little more relish knowing that he was watching her.

Eventually, she judged it time to push things a little further. With another little yawn, she stretched, reaching her arms over her head and arching her back slightly. She didn't even have to look to know that Severus was watching that one. Though they were a few seats apart, there was no one seated in between them and everyone else was enjoying a quiet, solitary breakfast.

Satisfied that she had made her point, Hermione settled down to really eat her breakfast. She reached out to pick up a crumpet - slathered in butter, just the way she liked them - and took a bite. Butter dripped out of the sponge-like treat and dribbled down her fingers, and she had to move quickly to prevent it dripping on her robes, swiftly licking it from her fingers and wrist.

She just had it under control when a hand fastened on her shoulder with an extremely firm grip, making her squeak. She felt rather than saw Severus lean over her.

'Miss Granger,' he said lowly, his breath caressing her ear, 'I will meet you in my office to begin today's work. Immediately.' Before she had time to breathe, he was gone.

Calmly, Hermione finished her crumpet, pushing the rest of her meal aside. She took a deep breath and stood. Her knees were a little shaky, and she had to grip the back of her chair, but otherwise she was quite proud of herself. She walked quite steadily across the hall and down toward the dungeons.

The door stood ajar, and she cautiously walked in. Severus probably wasn't going to let her get away with teasing him like that. The low velvet of his voice had promised some form of retaliation. The door to his office being open, welcoming her in, also wasn't a good sign.

He wasn't at his desk, but the sudden slam of the door that made her spin around revealed that he had indeed been waiting for her.

'So, Hermione,' he said, advancing with a dangerous look. 'Think it's funny to tease people at breakfast, do we?'

Hermione gulped and took an involuntary step back.

'Um... yes?' she answered.

Snape took another two steps forward. 'Well I,' he said, 'do not. I do not think it's funny at all.'

Hermione felt the edge of his desk bump behind her and knew there was nowhere to go. Snape, obviously enjoying stalking her, moved ever forward.

'Um... Severus...'

'And I think,' he said, standing close but not touching her, 'that I deserve an apology of some kind.' He stepped even closer, leaning to speak in her ear. 'A heartfelt apology.'

Hermione was more than willing to oblige, but Severus's breath on her neck was swiftly making any speech impossible. She took a deep breath, but that only put her in contact with Snape's chest and made things worse.

'Severuss...'

Snape pulled back to look at her. 'No, I don't think that was quite good enough.' He darted forward, pushing her hard against the desk with his body and took her lips with his.

Well, this wasn't so bad, Hermione thought as her fingers tangled in his hair. In fact, it was precisely what she had been teasing him for and if he thought this was a proper punishment, then who was she to argue. Particularly as his tongue was doing such wonderful things was in her mouth at the moment and she wouldn't have been able to argue anyway.

His hands fastened on her hips and lifted her on to the desk, enabling her to wrap her legs around his waist. He was a vengeful man, Hermione thought, urging him closer with her legs, but no-one could say he wasn't a smart man. She sure as hell hadn't been able to figure out how to improve on this lovely situation. She moaned as she felt his hardness against her. This was a definite improvement.

He started kissing down her neck, and she started wondering how quickly they could get out of their clothes. They hadn't faced that problem too many times so far, as the first time last night had been a leisurely affair, and every time after that they were, happily, already naked. This time, clothes were a definite liability. She felt his hands snake up beneath the hem of her dress and begin to do wonderful things to her thighs, and sighed. Complete nakedness wasn't an absolute requisite, she decided, as long as she could get to the buttons of his fly...

A discreet knock at the door made both of them freeze. Another, and Snape eased his rather tight hold on Hermione's bottom and swore. Hermione paused in her ministrations, cursing the temerity the rest of the world had in simply existing. Really, she thought, as Snape backed off with a regretful look and she swiftly straightened her clothes, it was rather rude.

She sat in a chair, grabbed a book and was doing her best to look utterly un-aroused when Snape opened the door to reveal Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black. Hermione inwardly cringed. Of all the people to interrupt a rather pleasant beginning to the day, it had to be two of Hogwarts' biggest gossips.

'Severus,' said Albus, with a broad smile. 'We've come to volunteer for your next series of tests.'

The rest of the day was spent, by Hermione, in the ever-disappointed hope that their two unknowing chaperones would bugger off. After a rather long discussion about why Dumbledore shouldn't be a test subject (again. Hermione had felt rather proud of the Headmaster's eagerness to participate last time, but this time around she just wished he would get the point), the two visitors then summoned Madams Hooch and Sprout, who also offered their services. Unable to deny that test subjects were, indeed, needed, and aware that they had only a week before school began once more, the two potions developers spent the rest of the day checking the life signs of their potential lab rats and explaining the procedures to them. Flitwick popped his head in to see what was going on, and Minerva toddled down to see where everyone was, and the whole place swiftly became a zoo.

At lunch, which everyone had decided to take in the dungeons when Snape and Hermione had expressed their wish to stay there to work, Hermione made an excuse to go to the library just to get some time to herself. Although the lab in the dungeon was quite large and everyone was being unusually respectful of the need for silence, the atmosphere down there was stifling. Particularly, she reflected, when Severus took every opportunity to stand temptingly near. Her rational brain told her that it wasn't his fault, that working at the same cauldron they naturally had to stand close together occasionally, but it was really too much. Luckily the warmth of the cauldron had saved her from queries on why she looked so flushed all day.

Hermione walked into an aisle and leant her hot head against the bookcases, and sighed. She knew there was only one week of the holidays left. She knew that they could not work as hard on the potion when there were children around, she knew how important the task was, but... All she could think of was ripping off Severus's clothes and throwing him on a desk. The more she had of him, it seemed, the more she wanted him. Being denied him was driving her mad.

Hot breath on her neck made her insides melt, and she had to grab hold of the bookcase to prevent her knees from giving out under her.

'Severus,' she sighed as his hand came around her waist and his mouth pressed kisses against her neck. She turned around.

'Miss Granger,' he whispered into her ear. 'You still owe me an apology, I believe.'

'Mmm,' Hermione said, leaning into his embrace. 'And I so deeply want to apologise, too.' His lips nibbled at the side of her mouth before he rested his forhead against hers.

'As much as I would like to hear that apology right here and now,' he said, 'the others will wonder where we are. They sent me to see where you had got to.'

Hermione sighed again. 'Why can't someone trap us in a genius bottle now? If only Ailie had left the spell written down somewhere, we could arrange it.'

Snape nodded, and stepped back from her. 'Indeed. But for now we must return to the others.' He stroked her hand with his before leading the way out of the library, Hermione following despondently behind him.

Things continued on in much the same manner for the next two days, and Hermione had barely a minute alone. It being her first term as a teacher in her own right, the other professors felt compelled to help Hermione with her preparations in the small amount of spare time they all had after the experiments. Minerva accompanied Hermione to her rooms that night to help her out with her lesson plans. Flitwick took up her lunch hour advising her on teaching methods. Hooch and Sprout insisted she sit with them in the staff room to discuss handling difficult students, and kept her there until she barely had enough energy to drag herself back to her rooms.

It was three nights after their reconciliation when a shadow made its way along the main corridor of Hogwarts. Anyone used to the night happenings in Hogwarts would have fouind something to recognise in the tall dark figure that stalked along the halls, robes billowing darkness behind it. An interested observer might have noted that the general direction of the shadow appeared to be not unrelated to the direction of Hermione Granger's chambers.

The ease of grace and stealth of the shadow was lessened somewhat when it stumbled, with a muttered 'oof!' of surprise, and had to grab at the stonework to prevent itself from falling over.

'Hermione?' Snape asked, his hand wrapped around what was, despite being invisible, undoubtedly a warm and solid arm.

There was a muttered charm from the invisible owner of the arm, and Hermione materialised in front of him.

'Invisibility charm,' she said with a grin. 'Force of habit.'

Snape stood and drank in her presence. There had been time for stolen moments in the last few days, but not enough to satisfy the ache in him whenever she was near. His hand was still on her arm, soaking up the mere physical presence of her. Hermione didn't seem to mind.

'It's a little late for a stroll, Miss Granger,' he said lowly.

'Professor Granger, now,' she answered. 'Or so Freya and Esmerelda have been telling me all night. It's a vital part of maintaining respect, apparently.'

'I've always found a healthy dose of fear to be effective,' Snape said. Hermione rewarded him with a smile, and he inwardly grimaced. He wasn't yet comfortable with the fact that she had been his student, and he searched for something to say that would make him feel less like a lecherous old man.

Hermione raised a hand to stroke his face. 'Severus...' A small yowl interrupted whatever she was going to say, as the two of them whipped around to see Mrs Norris staring at them. Before either could react, the cat whipped around and took off down the corridor. Snape had never been more tempted to petrify the cat in his life.

'Filch won't be far behind,' he said with a sigh of regret. He didn't relish having the old caretaker discover the two of them alone in a moonlit corridor.

'No,' Hermione said, looking down the corridor with a frown. 'Mrs Norris still hasn't seemed to have grasped the fact that I'm not a student anymore.' She looked back at Snape with a hint of speculation in her gaze. He shook his head.

'Albus is asleep in my chambers. I was only just able to get away without waking him.'

'And Minerva was last seen heading toward mine,' Hermione sighed. 'They couldn't be doing a better job of guarding us if they tried.'

There was a sound down the corridor, and Snape could see the first glimmerings of Filch's torch. He drew Hermione further into the shadows. The experiments with the potion were nearing an end, and could be rushed to completion. The other teachers would surely need the weekend for their final preparations before the students arrived, which would mean two days of freedom for himself and Hermione, if they could just stay out of the way of everyone else... He was just trying to figure out a way of asking Hermione to spend the weekend in his chambers without sounding like a complete lech - what did one ask? Hermione, I have several books in my rooms which I think you would be interested in, and as there are so many it would take you several days... - when she beat him to it.

'Severus, would you spend the weekend in my rooms with me?' she asked, not a hint of embarrassment in her voice.

'Certainly,' he replied with shameful speed.

'Great,' she said, breathless. He felt her hand grasp his arm, and fingers stroke briefly across his lips. 'Friday night then? I'll arrange for Dobby to bring dinner for us.'

'Yes,' he whispered, aware that the light of the torch was getting closer.

'I'll see you then,' she whispered in return, and in a subtle movement of the air, was gone. Snape took a moment to straighten himself and then stepped out of the shadow.

'Argus,' he greeted the approaching caretaker. 'Any trouble?'

Friday morning, Severus was amused to overhear a conversation between McGonagall and Hermione which went thusly:

McGonagall: 'Hermione, dear, are you sure you sure you don't need any help with your lesson plans this weekend?'

Hermione: 'Oh! No, Minerva, I'm quite certain I will be fine. I just want to spend the weekend in my rooms, you know, just finalising things.'

Minerva: 'If you're worried at all, my dear, you know you only have to ask. Freya, Esme and I are old hands at these things by now, but we understand how daunting your first year can be. The three of us have all our things prepared just in case, this weekend-'

Hermione: 'Thank you very much, Minerva, I do appreciate it. But I think I will be fine. Esmerelda and Freya helped me incredibly the other night, and after you looked over my plans I feel very confident everything will be fine. I just want to go over things.'

Minerva: 'Well, if you find you need a break, Freya and I were saying just the other day it's been such a long time since all of us went shopping-'

Hermione: 'No! I mean to say, I couldn't possibly go out. I wouldn't be able to enjoy myself. No, I'll be fine, I'm sure. You know me, I need to just go over everything to make sure it's perfect, but I'm sure it is.'

A nod from Minerva, and the undeclared battle was won. Snape smiled into his tea as he heard Hermione give a barely audible sigh of relief. He had idly wondered how the undeniably social Granger was going to achieve a weekend alone in her rooms without arousing suspicion. It was lucky, really, that he was a virtual hermit within these walls and could disappear for weeks without anyone noticing; if all went well, the two of them would be undisturbed for at least 48 hours.

The weekend did, indeed, go off with barely a hitch. There was one scary point when Sirius knocked at the door on Saturday afternoon and Hermione felt compelled to answer. It took some quick explaining from Hermione as to why she was still in her dressing-gown ('having a lazy day, Sirius') and why she couldn't go out for a walk with him ('no, I'm really sorry, but I just can't take a break'). Snape couldn't say he was happy about the ensuing promise from Hermione to visit with Black on Sunday night, but the two of them remained by mutual consent silent on the subject.

In fact, by Sunday evening, when he was sneaking back down to his own chambers, Snape thought with some surprise that it had been a very long time indeed since he had spent so much time in the company of another person, and had not blown up at them. Hermione, despite all former appearances, had turned out to be quite a restful companion. As both of them had really some work to do on their individual teaching plans before the beginning of the school year there had been periods of restful study between them. Snape actually felt quite rested.

A/N: If you like happy endings, stop reading right now. No, seriously. It's not nasty, but it's just not one of those 'Happy ever after' endings and I really hate it myself when those are just sprung on me.


	46. The Masks The Monsters Wear

Chapter 44 And the masks the monsters wear to feed upon their prey

And so the school year began. Hermione sat, trying to rein in her excitement as the batch of first years was led in by McGonagall. The class was smaller than usual, she noted with a frown, but shook it off to watch with anticipation as the children were sorted. How small they were, she reflected. She had been pleased to note in the staff meeting that many of them were muggleborn, quite a larger proportion than in previous years. They were easy to pick out now; they were the ones with the wide, staring eyes.

She steadfastly kept her eyes upon the action before her, and resisted the temptation to look at Severus. Even after a whole weekend together, the sight of him was like a drink of cool water to her. Well, almost a whole weekend; there had been a staff meeting late on Sunday afternoon which she had, after various Slytherin moves on his part, finally convinced him that they had to attend, and also the outing with Sirius which had cut their weekend short. Though it was a wrench to give up the few remaining free hours they had together, in her heart she knew she owed time to Sirius. There had been a sour look in Severus's eyes as he had left her rooms, but she hoped she had satisfied all the old jealousy by tackling him with kisses as he left. Anyway, it couldn't be helped, and she was happy that she had had a chance to spend some real time with Sirius before he had to go.

Now it was term time, and she was officially Professor Hermione Granger. She did her best to remember all the solemn advice the others had given her over the last week. She tried to remember all their horror stories of their first classes, and did her best to remember that by only her second class she would be faced with Slytherins, but it was difficult to clamp down the excitement, nonetheless.

Dinner began; Dumbledore introduced her as the new Muggle Studies teacher, and in a whirl, it was over. She moved with the other teachers to the staff room, where Filius played waiter and handed around the sherry, and her eye caught a glimpse of a shadow in the corner. It had a familiar shape, and her eyes locked on to it. Severus's dark eyes mated with hers for a moment before something else called them both to attention, but it was enough. She had had her taste of him, and could carry on until the next time they had the opportunity to meet.

The first week of classes progressed with no more and no less excitement than in previous years. Hermione was given reason to both bless and curse the fact that her classes were composed of the upper years of the school, but she was extremely grateful that she had had opportunity in the year past to get to know the students and observe the way they behaved. She felt that her first week was not without success.

A leisurely bath in her quarters was by way of a reward both for Severus and Hermione half-way through the week, and she had the pleasure, aside from that of wrapping her limbs around his naked body and soaping his chest, of hearing his yearly rant on the first years.

'So, no new Longbottoms yet?' she asked, tongue in cheek.

'Not quite. Your friend Neville has the distinction of being the only first year in my experience to melt a cauldron every day in his first week of potions.' Snape sighed. 'But Dolores LeFaine may almost be up to his standard. The silly girl mixed dry bicorn horn with powdered ginger root, with the result-'

'Boom, gunpowder,' Hermione interrupted. 'Yes, I know. Neville saved that discovery for our third year.'

'How the little witch got her hands on bicorn horn is what I puzzle over,' Snape said, casually stroking Hermione's leg as she soaped his shoulders. 'It must have been set in her potions kit by some enterprising relative, I suppose. I remember her brother was quite adept at the skill, when he was here.'

It was on the tip of Hermione's tongue to ask whether he had given them the usual 'subtle art of potions' speech, but she thought better of it. Besides, there were better ways to distract the surly potions master from his troubles.

The peaceful progress of learning carried on in this way for the first few weeks of term, and, given the summer that had preceeded it, those who knew that they were on the edge of war were almost grateful for it. There were difficulties, however. As little as any of them wished Severus to be called again, the dream-troubling potion was stocked up and ready, waiting to be administered to its Death Eater victims. A second plan of sneaking around to the residences of the known Death Eathers began to be formulated, but they were saved from its execution when Severus was called in the middle of a Wednesday night.

Hermione tied up her dressing gown as she rushed through the halls to Dumbledore's office. She had been in her own rooms, unable to sleep, when something had caused her to glance out of the window. The familiar dark figure crossing the lawn could mean only one thing.

Dumbledore was, of course, awake, and only somewhat surprised to see her. He turned sad eyes to her in response to her question, 'Is he gone?'

The old man flicked his wand at the tea service on a side table, summoning it to the table in front of the fireplace.

'We might as well sit together, my dear,' he said, waving his hand at the other armchair in front of the fire. 'There is no point in our pacing our rooms seperately.'

It was a long night.

The Order of the Phoenix had been called to an emergency meeting in a large secret room in the castle of Hogwarts. To any interested observers, it may have appeared a little strange that Arthur and Molly Weasley had decided to take a weekend away in Hogsmeade, and one or two individuals may have observed the werewolf Remus Lupin tramping across the Scottish moors with his great black dog in the general direction of Hogwarts. Others would have passed completely unobserved.

'I am afraid-' Dumbledore began, hushing the collected group. 'I am afraid that the intelligence we have all gathered in the past week can only point to one thing.'

Silence reigned in the room until the old wizard spoke again.

'War, my friends,' Dumbledore continued, 'is finally upon us.'

It was not news to anyone in the room. In fact, it was what they had been waiting for for many months now. But it was not welcome, nevertheless.

Hermione risked a glance at Snape, and wished she hadn't. Nothing had happened to him in Wednesday's meeting, but it had affected him just the same. He was paler than ever, and the shadows under his eyes told of sleepless nights. He hadn't let her near him - she knew he wouldn't but she had tried anyway. But he hadn't been cruel about it, and that spoke volumes.

Dumbledore was speaking again, and Hermione fought her way past the dread in her stomach to pay attention.

'We don't know when they plan to strike. It may be tomorrow, it may not be for several weeks. We only know that it will happen within term time.' Dumbledore looked around the circle. 'The target is Hogwarts, and all those who reside in it.'

This also wasn't news, but there were small reactions around the circle just the same. Molly closed her eyes. Aruthur stared at the floor. Tonks stared straight ahead, as good as a reaction from her. Hermione gave no reaction at all, for she had given all she could give on Thursday morning after Severus had returned and she had the privacy of her own rooms. Her heart had hardened now.

'Tonks, Kingsley, what have we to expect from the Aurors?' Dumbledore asked.

'We have a few loyals that we can rely on,' replied Shacklebolt, but then he shook his head. 'Not nearly enough, though. A few random witches and wizards who will come when we need them, whenever we need them, and who will do their best to bring others, and Spires and Woodward, who will bring their groups across with them. We may be able to release a general alert that will bring others, regardless of what the Ministry advises, but we can't count on it.'

Dumbledore nodded, and turned to Arthur. 'And what of the ministry, Arthur?'

'We can falsify the codes needed to summon the aurors to the scene. We cannot, however,' Arthur sighed, 'sustain troupes of aurors on Hogwarts grounds for the next few weeks, which is what we need.'

'Why on earth they won't believe the word of Albus Dumbledore I'll never know,' Molly interpolated. Dumbledore twinkled at her.

'Thank you for the vote of confidence, Molly,' he said with a nod. He turned to Bill Weasley, who had been called back earlier in the week from his investigations in Europe.

'We have the support of the Valkyries, and Charlie has the dragon masters on board.' He smiled. 'We have had a bit of luck with the 'lesser' magical races,' he said. He turned to the others to explain. 'We figure that while He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is happy to recruit Dark creatures for his forces, he won't be stooping to those he considers below him. So far, we've had luck with several races of fairies. Some of the goblins have listened to what we have to say. There are a few who will join us when the battle happens, but I think I can convince some of those I've been talking to to take residence on Hogwarts grounds.'

Dumbledore nodded and turned to Hagrid. The giant shook his head.

'We won't have any trouble from the forest, but that's all I can guarantee yeh.'

'That is better than nothing, Hagrid,' Dumbledore said with a nod at the caretaker. 'Severus?' he asked, turning to the shadow in the corner.

'We cannot trust any of the children of Death Eaters, such as remain,' he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Hermione cringed inside at the despair in his tone. 'It cannot be beyond notice that none of the first years this year are from those families, and all their children from the lower classes have been pulled out. I recommend that a very close watch be kept on those that remain, and any of their confidants be kept under suspicion. We will need to deal with them when the time comes.'

A small silence went around the circle as the news sunk in. It was almost unthinkable that Hogwarts would be faced with an enemy from within, in the form of its own students. Worse still, they all knew how much it cost Snape to admit that he had failed to turn his students from the darkness. Dumbledore thanked him and turned to the group.

'As for myself, I can assure you that Hogwarts is by no means incapable of defending itself. There is more to these old stones,' he said, patting the walls, 'than meets the eye. We will meet tomorrow to plan the battle.' With a nod, he dismissed the group.

Hermione followed Snape down into the dungeons, uncaring of who saw her. Tonight was no night to be alone. He spotted her when they reached his door, and sighed.

'Hermione, you should return to your own rooms.'

Hermione gave him a serious look. 'So that we can spend the night awake in our own rooms, just like the past three nights? Thank you, Severus, but as grumpy as you may be your company is better than lying with my eyes open to the darkness alone.' She saw his shoulders slump slightly in defeat, and was glad he was too tired to put up much of an argument.

Despite his protestations, Snape was soon asleep in Hermione's arms, of which she was glad. He would need all of his strength for the many meetings he would soon be called to, on both sides. She recalled the conversation that had occurred when he had returned on Thursday morning.

'Soon,' he had said. Hermione had pressed her ear to the door, uncaring if Dumbledore knew of her presence. Severus had insisted that she leave, and she knew him well enough to stay out of his way, but she wanted, needed to know that he was all right.

'I wasn't able to find out exactly when. There is much distrust. The D- The Dark Lord is conducting mind searches of those who will implement the plan. I missed out because of the fun they were having with the last subject of their test.' He paused here a moment, and Hermione had time enough to picture what sort of fun they would have had. She wished he would keep on talking.

'Occulomency only makes him suspicious. Pensieves leave too many holes. Albus, I have too much to hide now. I do not know what is to be done!' There was a crash, then, and Hermione pulled away from the door. She heard Dumbledore mutter something and then footsteps, so she quickly backed away and threw an invisibility charm over herself. Luckily, Snape was too distracted to notice as he usually did. Dumbledore was not.

'You may remove the charm now, Miss Granger,' the old man said. She did, and stepped forward.

'I'm one of the things he has to hide,' she said sadly, and the old man nodded.

'What is to be done?' she asked. Dumbledore shook his head and walked toward her.

'There is always a way, my child,' he said. It wasn't much consolation.

She had spent the next two nights puzzling over it. On the second night, Severus had attempted to break up with her, which was exactly what she expected. It hadn't been pleasant, but once she had tied him to a chair and explained that breaking up wouldn't achieve much, as it would merely create a powerful emotional pathway to exactly the memories and thoughts Voldemort wanted to access, he had given up the attempt. He hadn't been happy about it, however.

Two phrases kept floating around and around in her head. Occulomency only makes him suspicious. Pensieves leave too many holes. The two most common pathways to concealing their secret were no longer safe. That left them with too few options.

She had spent last night in the library, researching an idea she had. The information had confirmed that her idea was a solid one, a possible one. It was the way out of their predicament. She had left her notes on Dumbledore's desk, and a small nod from the old man during the meeting had confirmed that all her suppositions were sound. It was a way, the only way they had, to ensure Snape's safety at the next meeting, and it had to be done as soon as possible.

If only she knew it was reversible. If only she had some hope. Hermione wrapped her arms more tightly about her lover and wept.

Snape was immediately suspicious when Hermione led him into Dumbledore's office. The old man was supposed to be meeting with Lupin and Black to formulate battle plans this morning, and had no time for a tete a tete with two troubled lovers. The solemn look on the old man's face was not comforting.

It was Hermione who spoke first, piling suspicion on suspicion.

'Severus,' she said, turning to him. 'You know that I was listening at the door the other night when you were telling Albus about the meeting.' Snape nodded. He wouldn't have expected anything less of her, and if he hadn't been so bone tired that night he might have remembered to ward the door with a silencing charm. Besides, she had said as much the other night when she'd tied him to a chair. Hermione took a deep breath and looked as though she was about to cry, which troubled him. She wasn't the type to burst into tears.

Dumbledore observed this as well, and took hold of the situation.

'Hermione has been researching ways around your particular predicament,' the old wizard said. 'And, happily, she has found one.' He sent a smile Hermione's way, and she gave a small smile back before she turned again to Snape.

'It's the fidelus charm,' she said, and Snape frowned. He knew that the charm applied to locations only, and for a moment he thought the two of them had resolved to send him away. Hermione, seemingly reading his mind, held up a hand. 'An altered fidelus charm. One that hides a secret, rather than a person. One that can hide the secrets you need hidden.'

Snape's puzzlement continued for a few moments as the headmaster explained how a few changes to the charm could keep his secrets hidden, hidden in the mind of one other person. Once the charm was said, if it worked - and Snape knew Hermione, knew that she wouldn't have suggested it unless she was certain it would work - all knowledge of the secret would disappear as if it had never existed. In other words, whatever it was would never have happened.

He and Hermione would never have happened.

Dumbledore explained this in a sad voice, explained that Hermione would be the one to perform the charm, as she would be the one to hold the secret. When it was over, the only evidence that he and Hermione Granger had ever been romantically inclined would exist in Hermione's head. The old man nodded at Hermione, and patted Snape on the shoulder as he left the two to discuss it.

Snape stared at Hermione, who was now standing by the fireplace, her chin held high and her eyes unafraid to meet his. They sat in silence. He couldn't think of anything to say.

'If you agree to this, Severus, I think we should do it now,' she said. Her voice held an unnatural calm. 'It must be done before your next meeting is called.'

'When - how will it be reversed?' he asked.

Hermione looked at the floor. 'I don't know. We don't know if it can be. As I've mucked around with so many elements of the original charm, I need too much time to figure out what elements of the ending charm I need to change. We don't have enough time.'

Snape looked at her sadly. It felt as if someone was twisting a knife in his gut, and he couldn't figure out why.

'Dumbledore won't be able to help you,' he said.

'No.' She gave him a tremulous smile. 'He won't remember it having happened. No one will. Funny, isn't it? I finally invent something useful in magic and no one is going to know about it except me. Maybe even I won't believe me, after a while. Maybe I'll think I've gone mad, or something, to imagine-' She held a hand up to her mouth, and a strangled sound came from her. Snape stood, crossing over to her.

'Hermione, there has to be some way. I can't let you do this. I can't add this to the rest of the things I've done-'

She held a hand up to his face, and gave him a sad look. 'You can, Severus, and you won't have to live with it. You won't remember it.'

He closed his eyes in pain. 'Hermione,' he whispered. 'I-'

'Shh,' she said, stroking his cheek. 'Don't say things that will make this memory any harder for me.' He nodded, and placed his hand on her cheek, feeling the tears there, a mirror to the wetness on his own.

She raised her wand.

In London, Ginny Weasley blinked in the middle of her morning jog, remembering the fun she had had with Hermione Granger last time they'd got drunk together.

In the staff room, Freya Hooch and Esmerelda Sprout frowned and looked at each other.

On her balcony, Minerva McGonagall paused in cutting a flower for Filius Flitwick, but returned to her task as he pointed for her.

In a small room in the headmaster's chambers, Sirius Black let out a small growl without knowing why. Dumbledore, standing across the table from him, looked sadly at the map he was holding as he felt a memory slip out of his head, but his expression cleared. He wouldn't remember it. He had important things to do. War had begun.

The End.


	47. epilogue All the world is green

Epilogue

Hermione Granger looked down at the grey head of her husband, resting peacefully in her lap. Not many would have thought this man capable of such vulnerability, not even now days, when he had softened from the hateful, spiteful potions master into a quiet man of research. The years had been good to him, she reflected as her hand brushed his cheek, good to both of them considering what they could have lost. They were indeed blessed.

She stared into the fire and tried not to remember the long and lonely years of the war. It was all but forgotten now, but that was only natural. It had been best that they forget.

Forget. How she hated the word. Memory had been all she had, for so long, and now it seemed she was losing it again. She couldn't, and wouldn't complain, not after the many years they had had together, not after the joys they had known that had grown from darkness. But it seemed so unfair. So many years without memory, and now the mediwizards - and the doctors, she had insisted that he check with doctors as well - were telling them that he had years merely, not the decades they had expected, and that his memory would slowly be leeched from him as though someone had punctured a bucket of water.

It was hardest on him, and hardest for him to accept, of course. He had always felt bad that it had been she who had been forced to carry their memory, she who had had all the burden. Now it seemed it would be that way again. But she felt in her heart that such penance was only justified, for what if...? What if it had been her spell that had brought this terrible fate down on him? What if it had been her faulty calculations, her own stupid insistence on bringing them back, the 'them' that existed only in her brain, that had caused this terrible disease?

She hadn't known that wizards, as well as muggles, suffered from it.

She straightened her back and stared harder into the fire. There was no room for regrets now. They had a year, maybe eighteen months, to research and find a cure. And it could be done. She would see it done, if it killed her.

Better than dying another slow death without him by her side.

Pretend that you owe me nothing

And all the world is green

We can bring back the old days again

When all the world was green

The face forgives the mirror

The worm forgives the plow

The question begs the answer

Can you forgive me somehow

Maybe when our story's over

We'll go where it's always srping

The band is playing our song again

And all the world is green

-Tom Waits, Blood Money

Bye.


End file.
